


What Lies Within Us

by Gabi2305



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-23
Updated: 2006-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabi2305/pseuds/Gabi2305
Summary: It looked like a simple mission. But the consequences for Trip are going from bad to worse. Will he be able to cope with his fate?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

* * *

 

Jonathan Archer sat in the Captain's chair, his eyes resting on the main screen. The planet hanging below them looked quite cold and hostile.

"Anything new?" he asked, turning to his Science Officer.

"Negative," T'Pol answered immediately without raising her eyes. "The scanners are not detecting any bio signs, as was the case with the other planets of this system."

"Fauna or flora?"

"Negative as well."

"Is there anything worth exploring down there? Strange geological formations? Anything unusual?"

Meeting Archer's eyes T'Pol raised an eyebrow. She hadn't missed the frustrated undertone in her Captain's voice when he'd asked the question. They'd been in this solar system for three weeks now, scanning one planet after another, gathering information and stocking up the data base. But not one of the planet had an atmosphere or at least something similar to an atmosphere. They were desert planets. Frozen wastelands on the fringes of the system, rocky landscapes in the middle and sandy deserts on the planets nearest to the sun. None of these planets held any particular appeal to the Enterprise crew and they were beginning to feel bored, most of all the captain.

T'Pol turned back to her instruments which were currently set to do a scan of the fourth planet of the six planets system.

"There is nothing you would call unusual," she announced calmly. Archer let out a sigh.

"We could fire a torpedo at it," an amused voice spoke up in the background. "I'm sure Malcolm would like doin' a little target practice. His aim is gettin' pretty rusty."

T'Pol shot the Chief Engineer an icy look, but Archer smiled as he turned around. "Malcolm would probably blow up the whole planet," he said. "That would change the ecosystem of the whole solar system."

"What ecosystem?" Trip asked grinning. "D'you see any ecosystem down there?"

"Sir, I'd never..." Malcolm Reed began stiffly, but Trip cut him off.

"Take it easy, Malcolm. Why can't you ever take a joke?"

"Well, I don't think you're being very funny," the tactical officer retorted acidly. "Why don't we do a little target practice on your precious engines, how does that sound?"

Trip had already opened his mouth to give a reply when T'Pol's voice interrupted their more or less witty repartee.

"Captain!"

"What is it, T'Pol?"

"The planet has a moon, in a distance of about 235.000 km."

"So what?" Trip asked. "What about it? The other planets had moons as well."

T'Pol ignored him. "This moon has an atmosphere," she informed Archer. The Captain sat up straight in his chair.

"An atmosphere?"

"Correct. 20,5% oxygen, 75,9 nitrogen and several gases."

"Just like back on Earth," Trip commented.

"The air is indeed breathable," T'Pol confirmed.

"There is not one single planet with an atmosphere in this system," Reed said. "And now we suddenly run across a small moon that has an atmosphere similar to Earth'? That's strange."

"Why do you think it is strange, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm Reed refrained from explaining it to her. How could you make a Vulcan understand something like a feeling?

"Are there any life forms down there?" he asked instead.

"No."

"None at all?" Archer frowned. "Not even a microbe? Well, never mind. Travis, set a course. Let's take a look at it."

* * *

 

"Except for its atmosphere the moon is not any different from the other planets and satellites of the system. It is uninhabited and harbors no vegetation. It's surface consists mainly of one big rocky landscape. The readings do not provide any new results. The rock's compounds are the same as that of the planet the moon is orbiting."

Archer gave T'Pol a curt nod, feeling slightly disappointed. This was not what he'd been expecting. His disappointment was mirrored in the blue eyes of his Chief Engineer who'd secretly been hoping for a new adventure.

"The whole moon looks like that?" Archer asked.

"Except for an area in the northern hemisphere, 0,86 km by 0,74 km, which cannot be scanned."

Archer raised his head. "Can't be scanned? Why?"

"I do not know yet," T'Pol admitted.

"And when were you plannin' to tell us about that area?" Trip winced at his testy tone of voice, but he couldn't help it. The cool, reserved Vulcan did have an uncanny knack for getting under his skin. What bothered him the most, however, was that he couldn't tease her back. Again she didn't react to what he said but turned directly to Archer.

"Considering the moon's size the area is far too small to attract any interest. The anomaly is probably being caused by the surface's minerals. Maybe there are some magnetic compounds in that area which are blocking the scanners."

"Or maybe that area has somethin' to do with why that particular satellite has an atmosphere," Trip suggested. Finally T'Pol turned to him.

"That is quite improbable, Commander," she dismissed his theory in a cool tone of voice.

Sighing, Trip looked at Archer. "Captain, there's somethin' down there. I... I just have a feelin'. And since T'Pol can't offer any real explanation why this particular moon has an atmosphere I suggest we take a shuttle down there and take a look ourselves."

"Sending an away team to the surface would serve no purpose, Commander," T'Pol said icily. "In your solar system Earth is also the only planet which has developed an atmosphere. I do not need to tell you that it is simply a natural process depending on many variables."

"But there's life on Earth," Trip said. "And I don't see any life down there."

"The moon is probably in an early stage of development. In any case you will not find anything on its surface that cannot be detected by our instruments as well. The area which cannot be scanned is small enough to be neglected."

Trip grimaced, giving Archer a look that told the Captain everything about how his friend was feeling. Trip was fed up with being locked up in this ship without having anything to do. In the last few weeks there had been nothing that needed his immediate attention; the warp engines were running like clockwork, all systems were working faultlessly and there hadn't been a single malfunctioning relay that needed fixing. Trip needed something to do.

Archer turned to T'Pol.

"I don't see any danger in going down to the surface and getting a few samples from that area so we can run an analysis."

"I can only make a point of the fact that I deem this a hasty way of action. We know from experience that..."

"I know, T'Pol." Archer waved her off. "Trip, get a shuttle ready and go down there for a few mineral samples from that mysterious area the instruments can't scan. Maybe someone wants to join you." Archer smiled. He knew perfectly well that there was at least one person who was also bored to death with being locked up on this ship with nothing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Shouldn't you rather have taken T'Pol along? On a deserted planet like that one a science officer probably would be more of a help than a security specialist."

Trip turned his head, looking at Malcolm. "Mrs. Perfect has been buggin' me enough today to last me for the whole week. I'd rather have you with me."

Malcolm allowed himself a small smile. "You don't think much of her theory about magnetic minerals blocking the scanners, do you?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well, let's say you hope she's not right."

Trip grimaced. Malcolm sure knew him damn well. Of course he hoped to find something a little more exciting down there than only stones and rocks, but he didn't really know what it was that he was expecting.

They didn't encounter any problems as they entered the moon's atmosphere, leaving the vacuum of deep space behind them. Trip set a course to the area's coordinates, piloting the shuttle safely through the atmosphere.

"Now how about that?" he asked.

Malcolm heard the surprise in his friend's voice and joined him at the helm. His eyes widened as he glanced out the main window.

"What's that?"

"Dunno, but it has definitely nothin' to do with magnetic minerals." Trip checked the sensors but they didn't provide any information. Below the shuttle a thick white wall of fog stretched into all directions, impenetrable not only to the scanners but to the human eye as well.

"It's coverin' the exact coordinates T'Pol gave us."

"You mean that fog is the area we can't scan?"

"Right. Doesn't look like normal fog, does it? Call Enterprise and tell them about what we found. I'm gonna look for a landin' site."

The foggy dome covered some kind of depression, and scanning it quickly with his eyes Trip came to the conclusion that landing a shuttle in there probably wouldn't be a good idea. Beyond the depression conditions weren't much better, though, the surface being richly covered with boulders and small rocks.

"I hope you don't mind a short walk," he said to Malcolm when he'd finally found a place where he could land the shuttle. "We're about a 1000 meters away from the fog, not countin' the climb down into that depression."

"No problem." Malcolm was already getting out the mountaineering equipment they needed to rappel down the cliff. "What's the temperature out there?"

Trip took a glance at the sensors' display. "Quite cool. About 18°C."

"Well, we're not here for R&R. Do you think we should take some rations with us?"

Trip shook his head. "We take a look at this, try to get a few samples and then hit the road. Shouldn't take too long."

"Alright." Malcolm grabbed his phase pistol and gave one to Trip as well.

"D'you think one of these rock's gonna attack us?" Trip asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he clipped the phaser to his belt. Of course he wasn't being serious, though; over the years Trip had seen enough dangerous situations to know that even the dullest away mission could prove quite risky when something unexpected happened.

* * *

 

The rocky surface of the moon made the trip more troublesome than they'd expected. More than once the men slipped on the crumbling stones that covered the ground in large quantities. A gusty wind blew, swirling up clouds of yellow dust which at times blurred visibility completely, forcing them to stop in order to orientate themselves. Finally they reached the depression, coming to stand at the edge of a 60 meters precipice. The dome of fog reached up almost 20 meters. Up close, it looked even more impenetrable than before.

"Do you think this is a natural phenomenon?" Malcolm asked, opening their backpack and getting out two ropes and harnesses.

Trip stood at the edge of the precipice, staring down at the strange fog. "No," he said simply. "If it was natural then the scanners woulda picked it up."

Picking up a rock he threw it down into the fog. It went right through the white mist and disappeared. Malcolm shrugged, securing the ropes on a large boulder.

"Well, then let's find out what's going on down there."

They had no trouble rappelling down the precipice. The rockface had many ledges and uneven spots they could hold on to, and only a few minutes later they had reached the bottom of the depression. Malcolm put the climbing equipment back into the backpack and stowed it away behind a few stones. Then he came over to Trip who was once again trying to calibrate his scanner so it would scan the area.

"Nothing at all?" Malcolm asked curiously. "Maybe it's a force field?"

Trip reached out, touching the fog with the tip of his finger. There was a small hiss as his skin made contact with the white substance.

"Seems so," he said. "Not a very strong one, though."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Well, it'd certainly be a leap in the dark, going in there," he said. "And not a very scientific approach, either."

"And just how scientific is scannin' it when the scanners don't pick up anything?"

Carefully, Trip stuck his hand through the fog, ready to pull it back in case the field gave him an electric shock. He only felt a soft tickling as his skin made contact with the fog.

"Now that's a weird kind of force field." Trip pulled his hand back and examined it. "Well then, let's go."

Throwing Malcolm a sideways glance, Trip took a deep breath and stepped through the field. A moment later Malcolm was standing next to him again.

"Are you crazy?" the Armory Officer said in an accusing tone of voice. "You can't just go in there without me-"

He broke off, taking a look around. At a distance of about 50 meters there was a square grey building of gigantic dimensions. Malcolm gasped for air.

"What's that?" he asked.

"I've no idea." Trip's breathing was coming in ragged gasps as well. "D'you feel that, too?"

"Yes. The air in here is clearly thinner than the air outside." Malcolm took a glance at the display of his scanner which was finally providing data again. "It's as if we were standing on top of the Rocky Mountains. I wouldn't recommend playing Race Me in here."

Malcolm glanced back at the foggy force field which now seemed to be the end of the world, thick and impenetrable to both eyes and scanning equipment.

"That was really stupid of you, just walking in here," he scolded. "What if there'd been a deep canyon right behind the field? Or just plain vacuum."

"Why would anyone want to cloak a building like that?" Trip said, ignoring Malcolm's last remark. "Any life signs?"

"None at all. The scanner doesn't pick up anything inside that building."

"Then let's go look for an entrance."

"You want to go in there?"

"Of course I do. We're on an explorin' mission, remember?"

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Come on, Mal, d'you want to tell the Cap'n we managed to get through that force field an' found a building only to go back without takin' a look at it?"

"You may have a point there." Malcolm looked back at the high building. The bad feeling was still nagging at the back of his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was that was bothering him. "Do you think there's anybody in there?"

"Well, if that's the case then I hope it's a reception committee waitin' for us right behind the door."

"I don't know," Malcolm said. "Anybody who goes to so much trouble cloaking their building is probably not too keen on having visitors."

"Let's go and find out about that," Trip suggested, setting off for the building.

Keeping a wary eye on their surroundings the two of them walked around the sinister-looking building, but there was no sign of life anywhere. Suddenly they found themselves standing in front of a door of rather gigantic dimensions.

"It must be at least four meters high," Malcolm said, tilting back his head to get a better look at it.

Trip nodded. "It's rather obvious that whoever build this thing are certainly no midgets." He cast another glance at the door. "Any ideas how we're gonna get in there? D'you see some kind of openin' device or somethin'?"

Shaking his head, Malcolm began to feel the door's surface as far as he could reach standing on the tip of his toes. Suddenly the bulkhead slid aside as if opened by magic, leaving an opening that was big enough to navigate a shuttle through it. Startled, Malcolm stumbled a step forward. Trip managed to dash inside just in time before the gap closed again.

"Probably some kinda sensor panel," Trip said. He began to feel the surface of the door as well, this time starting from the bottom of the bulkhead. When he'd reached a spot just a little above eye level he suddenly felt something scratchy under his fingers and a moment later the door slid aside again.

"Good," Trip nodded, satisfied. "At least we're gonna get out of here again." He shivered. "It's quite cold in here. A lot colder than outside." He calibrated his scanner. "11°C. Not exactly what I'd call home sweet home."

Malcolm shrugged. "At least the wind's gone. Well, then let's go and take a look around."

A long corridor stretched out in front of them, forking into several parts at the very end of it. Trip pulled out his scanner, glad to see that it was finally picking up signatures from inside the building.

"I'm pickin' up a big energy source," he told Malcolm.

"Well, they're going to need one to be able to maintain this kind of cloaking field," Malcolm said. "Lifesigns?"

Trip shook his head. "Nope. The building seems to be deserted."

"But why? I don't understand it. A building, a cloaking field and no one around to guard or take care of it. What's the point?"

Malcolm was still suspicious, but his scanner didn't pick up any life signs either.

"I think we should go an' look for that energy source," Trip said. "Maybe it'll give us a clue as to what this is all about."

Using his scanner, Trip led the way through the building. It was nothing short of a maze, and after a while they'd lost track of how often they'd forked left or right.

"We should have strewn crumbs to mark the way," Malcolm muttered in frustration.

"Usin' the scanner it'll be no problem findin' our way back," Trip tried to cheer him up. "I think we're almost there."

A big door blocked their way but it slid aside as well when Malcolm touched the rough patch at eye level. Now that they knew what to look for, the sensor panel was easy to spot.

As they entered the room, Trip whistled in amazement. They were standing in a huge computer room, obviously some kind of control center. Trip was in his element immediately, forgetting about his surroundings in a matter of seconds as he tried to get access to the computer terminal in front of him.

Malcolm looked around. It was his job to be paranoid, and since Trip was oblivious of everything else when he got the chance to tinker around with some machine, it was Malcolm's responsibility to make sure that they weren't going to be attacked. Malcolm frowned. This mission had gone very smoothly up until now - too smoothly. Energy-generating devices, high-tech computers, a cloaking field to hide them, and not a single bio sign? What was all of this about?

"Getting anywhere?" he asked Trip over his shoulder.

"No." Trip's voice sounded frustrated. "I've accessed the data, but I have no idea what it is that I'm seein'. We shoulda taken Hoshi along. To me this is just a bunch of weird hieroglyphs."

Malcolm allowed himself a small smile while he was still keeping an eye on the door. "Too bad we forgot to make English galactic standard before we left Jupiter Station. What are you going to do?"

"I'll just download the data and leave it to Hoshi to make sense of it. I think she'll be able to decode it, usin' the UT back on Enterprise. Maybe then we'll be able to find out what the point of all this is."

"Okay. How long will it take?"

"Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant," Trip said grinning. "We've got all the time in the world."

Malcolm grimaced in Trip's direction and drew his phase pistol. The cold feeling creeping up his back told him that they did not have all the time in the world, rather the opposite. Malcolm felt the knot in the pit of his stomach harden. If there was one thing Lieutenant Reed relied on then it was his sixth sense letting him know when something was wrong and right now it was indeed telling him that something fishy was going on here.


	3. Chapter 3

They were humanoid, even though to a human they would have still looked strange. They were over three meters in height, with long thin arms and legs which reminded of insects' limbs. They had long slender fingers and their heads were elongated and hairless. The look in their facet-like eyes was cold as they stared at the screen

"What are they doing?" one of the four observers asked.

"They are downloading our database," the second one answered.

"Thieves!" the third one exclaimed. "How dare they break in here and steal the results of our researches!"

"The question is, what are we going to do?"

"We cannot let them escape with our technology. That computerbase contains all our scientific data! We cannot simply let these creatures get away with it!"

"This is not going to happen," the fourth one said firmly. Up until now, he hadn't participated in the conversation, closely watching the screen that displayed the image of Trip downloading the data. In the back of the room there was Malcolm, casting nervous glances in all directions, his phaser ready.

"Are you sure they cannot pick up our signatures?" the tall humanoid asked doubtfully.

"I cloaked our bio signs the instant they came through the force field," his colleague assured him. "We could jump them, use the element of surprise."

"They have weapons," another one said. "We are scientists, not fighters."

"But they are a lot smaller than us. We can easily overpower them."

"We could call Head Quarters and ask for help," another one suggested.

"It would take them days to send help. The aliens would be long gone by then."

The fourth humanoid frowned. "What do we know about their vessel?"

"It is warp-capable. Quite advanced, actually, but certainly no match for our technology."

"Our data would provide them with technological innovations, then?"

"Exactly."

"We must not further their technological development. They must not get away with the data."

The four humanoids nodded in agreement and got up.

* * *

 

"All done." Satisfied, Trip looked down at the padd with the data he'd just finished downloading from the computer. He'd found some schematics that looked quite interesting, but so far he had no idea what any of them showed. He was looking forward to decoding the data with Hoshi's assistance.

"About time," Malcolm mumbled nervously. Looking up, Trip shook his head.

"Put away that phaser, Malcolm, or you'll end up hurtin' yourself. There's no one here except for us."

"I for one am looking forward to getting out of here. I hope you remember the way."

Handing Malcolm the padd, Trip got out his scanner. "Follow me," he waved grandly, setting off for the door. Sighing, Malcolm tucked the padd away in his breast pocket, phaser still in hand.

They hadn't gotten very far yet, though, when suddenly doors were flung open on both sides of the corridor and four tall humanoid beings attacked them. Trip was thrown to his knees, his scanner falling to the floor with a clatter. Without really knowing what was going on he started thrashing, trying to free himself. Malcolm, being the ever-alert security guard, fired immediately and managed to stun one of their attackers before another one landed a kick on his hand, making him drop his phaser.

"Run, Malcolm!" Trip yelled, desperately fighting the two tall beings who had him pinned to the floor. If he'd only been able to draw his phaser! Malcolm grabbed his opponent's arm and with great effort he managed to shove the alien aside, gasping in the thin air.

"I won't leave you," he yelled in Trip's direction, still panting.

Trip kicked one of the beings in the stomach; or at least what he thought to be its stomach. With a strange sound like a high-pitched whistle the being let go of him. Trip immediately turned to his other opponent.

"I'll be alright," he called. "Get outta here, Lieutenant. That's an order."

Malcolm felt something hit him in the back and dropped to his knees. The alien he'd stunned before was back on his feet and stomped down on his hand. Crying out in pain, Malcolm turned around and used his legs to sweep the tall humanoid off his feet. Quickly Reed scrambled back to his feet, but when he saw five other aliens hurrying towards them from the other end of the hallway, he decided to follow Trip's order. He had no chance of winning a fight against so many of them. Turning around, he ran down the corridor Trip and he had walked along earlier. Four of the new aliens dodged Trip and gave chase while the fifth one joined the others who were still holding Trip. By now the engineer was so exhausted that he'd stopped struggling and fighting them. Gasping, he tried to get his breath back. It hurt Malcolm's very soul to just make off, leaving his friend behind, but letting himself get captured as well wouldn't help the situation either. He needed to get away so he could free Trip later. But that was easier said than done. The aliens were only a few steps behind him and Malcolm knew that the odds were not in his favor. With their long spider-like legs his pursuers were able to take giant strides with every step they took, and Malcolm had covered less than twenty meters when he was already panting as if he'd just run a marathon. That bloody thin air. Malcolm dashed around a corner and immediately saw his chance. An open door, leading to a narrow hallway. Doubling back, Malcolm disappeared through the door before his pursuers had the chance to see where he was going. His heart was thumping in his chest and he all but choked as he gasped for air, but Malcolm refused to take the time for a break, passing another hallway, another corner, another door. Finally, when he was sure he'd shook them off, Malcolm slumped against the smooth wall of the corridor, panting. He felt his blood pounding in his ears and dizziness washing over him as he desperately tried to get his breath back. He had to find a place where he could hide, where he could rest for a few minutes. Expecting the aliens to come around the corner every minute, Malcolm took a quick glance around. His eyes fell on some kind of grating in the floor that looked like the grille of a ventilation shaft. Malcolm hardly found the strength to lift it, but after several futile tries it finally gave way. Relief washed over him as he saw that it had indeed been concealing some kind of ventilation shaft. Without hesitating Malcolm climbed into the shaft, pushing the grille back into place as he ducked down into the hole.

* * *

 

Trip had been fighting like mad, but he knew that he was no match for these aliens. In the end they had him pinned to the floor, each one of them holding down one of Trip's arms or legs. Trip was panting in the thin air. The lack of oxygen made him feel sick, and looking at the strangely elongated faces of his captors he felt sick with fear as well. Where the hell had they come from? And why hadn't the scanners picked up any bio signs? Trip gasped for air when the truth dawned on him. Anyone who had the technology to cloak a building of this magnitude shouldn't have any trouble cloaking their own bio signs as well. Trip lambasted himself an idiot for not thinking of that before. Malcolm had been right.

Malcolm. Hopefully he'd been able to escape. For if he'd been able to get away, there was still hope left.

Two of the aliens yanked Trip to his feet and dragged him off to a room which in a way reminded him of sickbay back on Enterprise. Trip kept fighting them, but their long fingers were wrapped tightly around his arms, not letting go. He struggled and squirmed in their grip, trying to kick them, and finally he felt one of his feet hit something hard. Crying out with pain, one of the beings let go of his arm. Quickly Trip turned and lashed out, not caring what he hit. The only thing that mattered now was getting away from here. Panting, he made a dash for the door, only to bump into the three other aliens who had been standing right behind him. As he was being dragged back into the room and pushed to the floor, Trip realized that he stood no chance against these aliens.

"What d'ya want with me?" he asked. The aliens said something, but Trip couldn't make any sense of the words. Their language consisted mainly of strange noises and high-pitched sounds that hurt his ears. Trying to communicate was not an option. There had to be some way he could get out of here.

While four of the aliens held him down the fifth one searched Trip's pockets and took away his phase pistol as well as his communicator and UT unit. Together with the scanner one of them had brought along he put them onto a table whose legs reached up about 1,70 meters.

"Maybe we'd get somewhere if you switched on that translator," Trip said, but the aliens only stared at him with hatred in their eyes.

Dammit Malcolm, if you're gonna get me out of here, then now would be great, Trip thought, feeling despair rise within him. The grip of their cold hands on his wrists and ankles was beginning to cut off his circulation. Suddenly one of the beings pointed a second phase pistol at him - Malcolm's phase pistol. Trip felt his hands grow cold. Had Malcolm been captured as well? No, in that case they'd probably have brought him in here too. Trip hoped desperately that Malcolm had only lost his phaser in that fight, and not also his freedom or even his life. Realizing that maybe Malcolm was dead already, Trip swallowed, trying to get rid of that parched feeling in his throat.

The alien who held the phaser kneeled down next to him, brandishing the weapon and yelling at him in that strange language of theirs.

"If I knew what you're sayin' I might even give you an answer!" Trip shouted angrily, still struggling, fighting their firm grip. He'd made up his mind not to cooperate, whatever they did to him.

The aliens exchanged glances. "He does not have the data," said the being who had searched Trip's pockets.

"Then the other one has got them," said the one who was standing next to him. "Maybe he will come back."

"I do not think so. Thieves usually do not have a sense of honor. He surely has order to get away with our research data under all circumstances. I do not think he will come back for his companion."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Tell our men to keep looking for him. We need to confer about what steps we are going to take now."

"But what are we going to do with him?" Trip was still struggling in their grip, panting and gasping for air. "We cannot hold him like this for much longer."

"Turn him around!" The humanoid who was still standing went over to a cupboard, took out a bottle with some kind of clear liquid inside and filled some of it into a syringe.

"Is that really necessary?" his colleague asked. "We could lock him up somewhere. Or get some ropes to restrain him."

"That would be insufficient. He must not escape. We need information about his vessel. We must get our technology back."

"We cannot communicate with him."

"Not yet. But I am sure that sooner or later we will find a way. But as long as he is able to fight us he will not cooperate. Turn him around."

* * *

 

Trip had no idea what they were talking about, but he knew it couldn't mean any good. When the four aliens tightened their grip, using brute force to turn him onto his stomach, Trip felt a hard knot of fear building in his chest. What were they going to do? Now the four aliens were kneeling upon him and Trip couldn't move a muscle. Anger rose within him, mingling with blind panic. He swallowed when he saw the syringe in the hand of one of the aliens. A syringe with a _very_ long needle. Trip heard sound of cloth being torn apart as they ripped open the back of his uniform. Feeling their spider-like hands as they pushed up his shirt, he shuddered. There was no use in begging for mercy, they wouldn't understand him anyway. There was also no use in fighting them, even if he had been able to do so. Trip could only lie there and wait for the inevitable to come. What was in that syringe? Some kind of truth serum? No, that would be no use; after all the aliens didn't understand his language. A drug? Probably, but what did it do? Trip had the feeling that he would soon find out. Gritting his teeth he made up his mind not to show any weakness no matter what they did to him. He felt the long needle pierce his skin and penetrate his flesh. Deeper and deeper. The pain was all but unbearable. Trip tasted blood and realized he had bitten his lip. Then he felt the clear liquid being injected into his spine. Desperately he fought against the terrible pain that exploded in his back. A blaze of agony shot through his legs and up his spine, making him feel like every nerve in his body was on fire. Throwing his head back, Trip opened his mouth and screamed in agony.


	4. Chapter 4

Malcolm crouched in the ventilation shaft, trying to calm down and bring his thoughts back into order again. Who were these aliens and what were they doing here? Malcolm called himself a fool for showing so little presence of mind. Instead of blindly relying on the scanners he should have taken into consideration that whoever build this kind of thing would certainly not leave it unguarded, no matter if there had been any life signs or not.

Malcolm was still feeling dizzy, the thin air making him rather unsteady on his feet. His heart was thumping so hard as if it were going to explode any minute. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He'd lost his phaser and during his frantic flight he'd completely lost track of where he'd been going. And he was almost beside himself with worry about Trip.

"Now pull yourself together, Malcolm," he muttered. "You're Enterprise's Security Chief, you're trained to handle this kind of situation!"

The soft tone of his own voice had something strangely comforting to it. Forcing himself to take long even breaths Malcolm felt the dizziness slowly subside. He had to find Trip. Trying not to think about what these people might be doing to his friend that very moment, Malcolm forced himself to concentrate on the matters at hand. He had to find Trip, but where the hell start looking for him in that gigantic building? His scanner wouldn't be of much use here. The aliens hadn't only cloaked their own bio signs but every sign in this building, and so he wouldn't be able to pick up Trip's life signs either.

Suddenly a long agonized scream pierced the silence, making him startle. Trip! What were they doing to him? Malcolm knew he couldn't sit here any longer, he had to do something. When the screaming stopped, the Lieutenant scrambled back to his feet. Was this a sign that they'd stopped tormenting Trip? Or did it mean that they had just killed him? Malcolm felt a shiver run down his spine. Ironically, though, Trip's scream had shown him the way. Now he knew which direction he had to take to go looking for his friend.

* * *

 

Even though Malcolm felt the urge to hurry as fast as he could, he kept to his usual watchfulness, prowling along the corridors, carefully peeking around corners and listening closely for any sudden noises, desperately hoping that he was going in the right direction after all. He almost caught himself wishing Trip would scream again so he would be able to find the way, and at the same time felt dread rise within him at the thought of that awful hope coming true.

Malcolm recoiled when a door opened only a few meters away from him and five of the aliens stepped out onto the corridor. Gesticulating and waving their hands, obviously engaged in a heated discussion, they disappeared into a nearby hallway. Malcolm took a deep breath, immensely relieved that they hadn't noticed him standing there. Taking a careful glance over his shoulder he approached the room the aliens had just left, hoping that he'd find Trip in there. And if the door was locked? Malcolm had trouble finding the rough patch, frantically feeling the surface of the door while he kept throwing glances over his shoulder. The aliens could come back any minute. Finally his fingers found the sensor panel. It was a little farther up than the one on the door outside and Malcolm had to stand on his toes to be able to reach it. Letting out a deep sigh he watched the door slide aside.

"Trip," he whispered. "Trip, are you in here?"

Malcolm stopped in his tracks when he spotted his friend sitting in a corner of the room. He didn't seem to be hurt, but was only sitting there, staring blankly into nothingness. Malcolm let out the breath he'd been holding, relief washing over him. He'd been expecting worse. Malcolm saw some of their equipment sitting nearby on a high table, Trip's scanner which he'd lost during the fight, the translator, the communicator and even the two phase pistols, lying around unprotected. Standing on his toes, Malcolm grabbed for the equipment and stowed it away in his pockets, then glanced over at Trip. Why hadn't he tried to escape? Grabbed the phasers and shot his way out? Why was he sitting in that corner, as if none of this really concerned him?

Malcolm went over to his friend. "Trip! Is something wrong?"

Trip startled, as if he'd only just become aware of his presence. "Malcolm. What're you doin' here?"

"Silly question, getting you out of here, of course. Come on, get up, we need to get away from here."

"Go without me, Malcolm, I can't walk."

"What did they do to you?" Malcolm was beginning to feel worried. Taking Trip by the arm he tried to pull him to his feet. "I'll help you. I'm sure we'll manage. You can hold on to me."

"You don't understand, Malcolm. They injected somethin' into my back. My legs. I can feel them, but I can't move them. They're paralyzed."

"Paralyzed?" Malcolm was shocked to the very core. Bastards, he thought angrily. How was he supposed to get his friend out of here if Trip couldn't walk? Trip was taller and heavier than he was, he'd have a job getting him out of here like this. Malcolm racked his mind, trying to think of what to do next.

"Go, Mal," Trip insisted. "Get outta here before they come back."

"Not without you."

"That's an order, Lieutenant."

"You can order whatever you want, Commander," Malcolm hissed through gritted teeth. "And feel free to reprimand me because of insubordination back on Enterprise, but I'm not going to leave you behind."

"Malcolm!"

"Shut up, I'm trying to think of a way to do this." Malcolm pulled Trip's scanner and phaser from his pocket. "I'll carry you," he decided.

"You can't. The thin air..."

"I'll carry you on my back."

"Malcolm! This won't work. The logical thing to do is leavin' me behind."

"I'm not T'Pol, so don't get all logical on me. Besides, _you're_ the optimistic guy, remember?"

Malcolm handed Trip the phaser and scanner, then stopped in his tracks.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of that before.

"Not anymore. It burned like hell at first, leavin' me totally numb. But then the pain was gone and some of the feelin' returned. I still can't move my legs, though."

"Well, at least it won't hurt that way." Spreading Trip's legs, Malcolm squatted down between them, facing away from Trip.

"Hold on to my shoulders," he directed. "If I hook my hands under your thighs, I should be able to lift you. You take the phaser and scanner, tell me which way to go and shoot everything that moves."

"That's crazy, Malcolm," Trip protested behind his back. Malcolm took hold of Trip's legs.

"Will you stop wasting our time and do what I say? I want you to take hold of my shoulders."

Sighing, Trip put his arms around Malcolm's shoulders and held on as tightly as he could. Despite his protests he wanted to get away from this place as soon as possible, but he was afraid to get Malcolm captured as well. The Lieutenant seemed to have made up his mind, though. Breathing heavily, he got back to his feet, straightening up with Trip on his back. For a moment he felt like he wouldn't be able to take one single step carrying that weight, but somehow he managed. Slowly they made their way to the door.

"The panel is quite high up," Malcolm told Trip. "You'll have to try and reach it."

Briefly Trip closed his eyes. The Lieutenant was asking for the impossible. Trip's legs were dangling limply from Malcolm's hands and Trip knew he'd lose his balance immediately if he was to let go of Reed's shoulder. They couldn't afford any further delays, though. Sooner or later the aliens were bound to come back. Carefully Trip wrapped his left arm tighter around Malcolm's neck and reached out with the other hand. Never letting go of the phaser Trip felt the bulkhead's surface with the back of his hand, searching for the rough panel that would open the door. He had to stretch to be able to reach it and a moment later he lost his balance just like he'd thought he would, slumping forward as the door slid open. He fell hard against Malcolm's shoulder and Malcolm took a quick step forward to regain his balance, letting go of Trip's legs as he held on to the wall for support. Trip's weight forced him to his knees immediately and Malcolm gasped for air.

"I told ya," Trip hissed. "It's not gonna work."

"Be quiet, or they'll hear you! And do stop moaning and groaning all the time, it's driving me crazy." Malcolm groped for Trip's legs, pulling himself back to his feet using the wall as support. "Tell me where to go."

Trip looked over Malcolm's shoulder at the scanner's display. "Go left at that corner, then straight ahead at the next forking. Then turn left at the next corridor."

"Understood."

Malcolm was becoming increasingly worried about Trip's condition, but he pushed these thoughts away, trying to focus his attention only on raising his feet and setting them back onto the floor. Even so, he had to stop ever so often to get back his breath. An increasing sense of foreboding made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was just too quiet around here. Was it possible that the aliens wouldn't notice their escape?

"Trip?"

"You need to turn right at the next corner."

"What do you think? These aliens... they were not trained fighters, were they? They didn't even have any weapons."

"What're you gettin' at?"

"Seems that they were rather surprised at our sudden appearance. What would you do in their place?"

"Wouldn't it be better to save your breath rather then playin' Twenty Questions?"

"What I mean to say is, don't you think they've mobilized all available forces when they first noticed our presence?"

"You mean there are only these nine people here in the building?"

"Exactly. Five of them disappeared into that room earlier. Assuming they're still in there, then there are four left. And these four were busy looking for me."

"And they're gonna find us any moment now."

"To stop prisoners from escaping, where would you place guards?"

Suddenly Trip knew what Malcolm was getting at. "At the entrance." He involuntarily tightened his grip on the phaser.

"Never mind whether it'll be one or nine of them, but I'm sure they'll be waiting for us."

"Hopefully it'll be less than nine. Malcolm, if the worst comes to the worst..."

"Forget it, Commander."

Trip fell silent at the grim determination in Malcolm's voice. He knew that his weight was pulling Malcolm down, and with every step he took the Lieutenant seemed to be panting harder as he staggered down the hallways with the heavy burden on his back. There was nothing Trip could do to make it easier for him. He gritted his teeth as he felt Malcolm's fingers dig painfully into his thighs. Sheer will-power was the only thing that kept the tactical officer still going, that and the concern for his injured friend.

"Turn right, and then right again. There's the entrance," Trip whispered.

"Are you ready?"

Glancing down at his phaser, Trip nodded. "Yeah."


	5. Chapter 5

Before rounding the last corner, Malcolm took another deep breath and mobilized his last few bits of strength. Several times he'd stumbled under Trip's weight, but he'd never allowed himself to fall. Now he straightened himself once more and stepped into the hallway leading to the exit. The second Malcolm registered the two guards standing at the door, a red phaser beam whizzed past his right ear and hit its target. Trip altered his aim and fired again. The two aliens fell and crumpled to the floor.

"Nice shooting," Malcolm panted approvingly, carefully letting Trip slide down onto the floor. Come hell or high water, he simply needed a few moments' rest.

"We're almost there, Malcolm." Trip felt so damn helpless, but now they'd almost made it. "I don't think they can follow us past the force field."

"Because of the air?"

"Exactly. Good fresh air, Mal, and full of oxygen."

Malcolm nodded, touching the sensor padd. The door slid open, and, grabbing Trip by the wrists, Reed pulled him outside. To the two men, the wall of fog about a 50 meters away seemed like the gate to Eden. Panting and gasping for air, Malcolm dragged Trip meter after meter towards the barrier and eventually past it. As soon as they were safe, the tactical officer of the starship Enterprise fell to the ground beside his friend, not moving or making a sound.

* * *

 

"The guards are at the entrance?"

"Yes, he will not be able to get away on that escape route. Not without a weapon, and we had him disarmed."

"What if he comes back for the other one?"

"It is highly improbable. And if he does, it will be impossible for him to get the other one out of here."

For half an hour, the beings had been discussing how to proceed further, but they could not agree on which step to take next. An incident like this one had not been taken into consideration. A beeping sound signalized an incoming hail, and the tallest of the five beings answered it.

"The aliens got away," one of the guards at the entrance reported.

"Got away? How?"

"The one who escaped earlier came back to get the other one. They had their weapons, and the one we had captured shot us."

"That is not possible. He should be completely unable to move."

"The toxin might have different effects on this species than you thought it would. His companion was carrying him, but all the same he was very well able to move."

The being nodded and turned to the others. "This changes everything. Shall we pursue them?"

"It is no use. They are well past the barrier by now."

"But we cannot let them get away."

One of his colleagues nodded thoughtfully. "You said our technology is superior to theirs?"

"Very much so."

"Do they have anything they might be able to use against our tractor beam?"

"No, they do not."

"Is it operational?"

"We will have to readjust it. That will take about an hour."

"Then let us begin. It will take a while until the aliens will be back on their ship. We have to be ready until then. Jam their comm frequencies. They must not contact their ship. Then call Head Quarters and ask for reinforcement. As soon as our ship arrives, the military will take care of this whole business."

* * *

 

Trip propped himself up on his elbows. "Are you alright, Malcolm?"

"Fine," the Lieutenant gasped. "Just have to get my breath back."

"Hand me a communicator."

Malcolm nodded, searching his pockets until his fingers brushed over one of the two communicators. Still panting, he pulled it out and handed it to Trip.

"Tucker to Enterprise!"

"Archer here," came the immediate reply. "What's going on down there, Trip? We've been waiting for you to contact us."

"Sorry, Cap'n, we came across some unexpected resistance down here."

"Resistance?" Archer repeated in an alarmed tone of voice. "What are you talking about, Trip?"

Malcolm, who by now was breathing more or less normally again, took the communicator from Trip's hand. "This is Lieutenant Reed, Sir," he said. "I suggest that you beam Commander Tucker aboard immediately."

"Is he injured?" Archer's voice sounded worried.

"You could say so. Trip can explain when he's back on the ship. I'll follow with the shuttle as fast as possible."

Malcolm paused, waiting for a reply, but only a low humming came buzzing from the communicator's small speaker.

"Captain?"

Trip reached out and Malcolm handed him the device.

"Tucker to Enterprise. Cap'n, can you hear me?" Only static interference answered him, and Trip uttered an angry curse.

Malcolm threw a wary glance over his shoulder at the thick fog that was just behind them. "We need to get going," he said, awkwardly getting to his feet again.

Trip looked at him, then at the steep rockface towering in front of them, then back at Malcolm. The expression on his face was quite despondent.

* * *

 

"Malcolm, Trip, come in!" Archer threw Hoshi a nervous glance.

"The connection was cut, Sir."

"Hail them again."

"I can't get through. Something's blocking the connection from the other side."

"What do you mean, from the other side?" Archer got up, walking over to Hoshi's station.

She operated the controls, then shook her head. "All frequencies are blocked by interference. It seems to be coming from the cloaked area."

Archer stared at her, thinking. "What did Trip say?" he said slowly, trying to remember the Commander's exact words. "Something about resistance? Usually resistance is offered by some kind of life form, isn't it? T'Pol?"

"It is the logical assumption."

"Then could you please tell me how it can be that our team has with resistance on a completely uninhabited moon? Couldn't it be possible that some life developed in that odd region after all?"

"It is about 0,63 square kilometers in area, Captain. What could have developed there?"

Jonathan Archer took a deep breath, trying to calm down. T'Pol was right, of course. But still there was the fact that something or rather someone was jamming their comm frequencies. And Trip was hurt.

Noticing he was making his crew nervous, he stopped pacing and sat down in his chair, struggling to regain his composure. Nevertheless, the worry displayed clearly on his face. Trip had sounded just like always. But all the same something must have happened to him, or Malcolm wouldn't have urged them to use the transporter. The Lieutenant knew how much Trip hated being transported.

"Look for their bio signs," he told T'Pol.

"I cannot make out any," she said after a few seconds.

"No bio signs?" Quickly, Archer got up from his chair.

"Captain," T'Pol said, trying to sound reassuring. "When Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed contacted us, their bio signs were clear and distinct. I assume that whatever is jamming our communication frequencies is taking effect on other systems as well and thus keeping us from picking up the Lieutenant's and the Commander's bio signs."

Archer nodded. "Sounds reasonable. Can we send shuttlepod two down on a rescue mission?"

"Not as long as we are unclear about what happened," she answered. "The Commander and Lieutenant Reed did not seem to be in immediate danger. I suggest we try to get communications back online while we are waiting, so we can re-establish contact with the away team."

Waiting. How Jon hated that word. Waiting. Sitting around, doing nothing, while two members of his crew, his friends, were in danger. Every nerve of his body urged him to take the other pod and get down there to help them. But T'Pol was right. Of course she was. She was always right. It would do no good if he acted rashly.

"Hoshi, I don't care how you do it, but get that connection working. T'Pol, you have the bridge. Keep me posted. I'll be in my ready room, checking the data we've gathered so far."

* * *

 

"Tucker to Enterprise! Come on, you can't just leave us here. Enterprise, come in!"

"It's no use, Trip. Our new friends seem to be jamming communications. No surprise, either. They might not be able to leave their cloaking field, but they're certainly not giving up. Let's get going."

"And how?" Trip snapped at his friend, then took a deep breath. It wasn't Malcolm's fault he was feeling so damn helpless. "Sorry," he said quietly. "But how do you suggest I climb that rock, with these legs?"

"You still got pretty strong arms, don't you? When I'm at the top, I'll pull you up."

"Hercules Reed, eh?"

"Damnit Trip!" Malcolm gave his friend an exasperated look, then took a deep breath. "Trip," he repeated more calmly, "I know you're worried about your condition. But Phlox will have you back on your feet in no time. He's always managed, so far."

"And what if not?" Trip fought against the sudden burning sensation in his eyes. "Phlox isn't almighty, either. What if he can't do anything? Do you think Starfleet will have any use for a paralyzed Chief Engineer on their flag ship?"

Malcolm crouched down beside Trip, his stomach clenching up at these words. Up until now, he hadn't allowed himself to even think about possible consequences. Trip, however, seemed to have already moved past that point. Malcolm put a hand on his shoulder. "Trip. Come on, look at me." Malcolm could see the fear in the engineer's eyes, the panic that his condition might be permanent, and what effects it would have on his career, on his life.

"Listen, Trip," Malcolm said gently. "Now don't get yourself all worked up about this. Phlox will be able to get this fixed, I'm sure. But now let's take one step at a time. First we have to get you back to the shuttle."

"So you're saying, don't jump if you can't even walk?" Trip smiled sadly and grimaced.

Malcolm inwardly kicked himself for his poor choice of words, but all the same nodded emphatically. "Exactly. And now let's go and tackle that bloody cliff." He helped Trip put on his harness, then got ready himself.

"All right. I'm going to pull you up when I'm at the top. And I won't say no to a little help from your side."

Having regained his control, Trip nodded. At the moment, his only concern had to be getting back to Enterprise as quickly as possible. And he didn't want to be more of a burden to Malcolm than absolutely necessary. While Malcolm began his climb, Trip pushed himself closer to the rock and studied the numerous ledges on its surface. Basically, this shouldn't be a problem. He attached the rope to his harness, then looked up at Malcolm who was just disappearing over the cliff.

"Ready?" Reed called from above.

"Ready," Trip answered, trying to sound confident. He felt the rope give a jerk, then the movement slowed to a steady pull. Working his way along from one ledge to the other, Trip pulled himself upwards. Without Malcolm, he never would have made it, but like this, it wasn't taking half as much time as he'd thought it would. If only his legs wouldn't bang against the rock all the time. They were being scratched and scraped as they grazed over the rock and got caught on ledges. Trip took in a sharp breath as a pointy rock ripped his uniform and cut his shin. The many ledges did come in handy for climbing but were rather inconvenient for someone with paralyzed, dangling legs. Trip let out a groan as Malcolm pulled him over the ridge. The Lieutenant grabbed him under the shoulders and hauled him a few feet away from the edge.

"Well," Reed said, panting a little. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He grinned at Trip, but the smile dissipated as his eyes fell on Trip's legs. The uniform was worn, ragged and bloody.

"Trip," he breathed, his eyes wide. Trip followed his gaze.

"That's alright," he said dismissively. "Jus' a few scratches."

"You can feel them?"

"Unfortunately. No, actually I'm glad I can feel everything, then it can't be that bad. I think." He looked up. "What now?"

Malcolm raised his head and scanned the horizon for their shuttle. Down in the depression they'd barely felt more than a breeze, but up here on the plateau the wind was again blowing full force. The scanner wasn't picking up anything, but Malcolm wasn't surprised at that. These aliens seemed to have completely taken over control. No, not completely. Malcolm straightened his shoulders. They weren't going to stop him. He would get Trip back to the shuttle, then the shuttle back to Enterprise. Squinting his eyes shut, he peered through the whirling dust and for a moment he could make out the shuttle's dark silhouette in the distance. Now the only thing left to do was getting Trip back to safety.


	6. Chapter 6

Malcolm's eyes were watering. He was sure there had to be at least ten pounds of sand in them, but he couldn't wipe them. To do that, he would have to let go of Trip whom he had flung over his shoulders. It certainly wasn't the most comfortable position for Trip, but this way, the weight was spread more or less evenly and it was easier for Malcolm to carry him. They were making only very slow progress. Malcolm would never have thought that a thousand meters could be such a long distance. By now, he could at least make out the shuttle, but it still seemed to be a hundred kilometers away.

He cried out as he stumbled on the loose scree, falling to his knees. Instinctively, he reached out to steady himself, and Trip slid off his shoulders, going head over heels down the uneven slope.

"Trip, are you okay?" Malcolm cried out, scrambling to his feet.

"I'm fine." Trip propped himself up on his elbows, giving his friend a scrutinizing look. "You look absolutely done in, Mal," he said. "You gotta rest for a while."

"We're almost there," Malcolm insisted stubbornly.

"We'll take a short break," Trip said resolutely. "Five minutes. And this time you do what I'm sayin', Lieutenant."

"Aye aye, Commander." Malcolm sat down with his back into the wind, wiping the tears from his eyes. Trip eyed him concernedly. Malcolm was beat. Making your way through these treacherous rocks was hard enough without carrying an additional weight and by now, Malcolm was completely exhausted. But of course, he would never admit it. Trip let his eyes wander over the rocky ground and wondered if he might be able to pull himself along all the way to the shuttle.

Malcolm saw right through him. "Just forget it, Commander," he said. "These rocks are pretty nasty. Even if you ever arrived at the shuttle, you'd need skin transplants."

"But you can't go on like this."

"There you are mistaken, Commander. I can go on like this as long as it's necessary." Malcolm got to his feet, and with a tremendous effort he heaved Trip onto his shoulders again, hooking his hands around the Commander's arms and legs. He took a deep breath and began walking, concentrating on the increasingly difficult task of setting one foot in front of the other. On and on, one step, another one, another. Don't think about how far it is. Don't think about the weight on your shoulders. Don't let go of Trip again. Don't forget to breathe, Malcolm. Breathing's important. Another step. Careful with that rock. Go around it. Don't lose your balance. Just a few more steps.

Malcolm kept his eyes fixed on the ground, the dust making them burn so badly he could barely keep them open. From time to time, Trip corrected his course, quietly telling him when he was drifting off to the right or the left.

"Stop, Malcolm," he called suddenly.

Malcolm stopped abruptly. "What is it, Trip?" he asked, not raising his eyes. His voice sounded raspy.

"We're there, Mal. Another two steps, and you'll bump into the shuttle."

Malcolm peered forward. There it was. Their shuttle. He'd actually managed to get Trip to the shuttle. Malcolm felt a relief so great he couldn't move a muscle. He simply stood and stared.

"Malcolm!" Trip began squirming in the Armory Officer's grip. "Put me down."

"Yes, sure." Malcolm smiled and carefully released Trip, letting him slide down onto the ground. He opened the shuttle's hatch and helped Trip inside. Climbing in as well, he closed the hatch behind them and paused to take a long, deep breath.

Trip was sitting on the shuttle's floor, looking up at Malcolm. "I'd never thought we'd make it. Dammit, Malcolm, that was really quite unbelievable."

Malcolm smiled at the compliment. "You would've done the same thing," he stated simply and lifted Trip onto one of the rear benches. Rummaging through one of the storage compartments, he searched for a med kit.

"What're ya lookin' for?" Trip asked.

"I want to treat those cuts on your legs."

"There's still time for that when we're back on Enterprise," Trip said dismissively. "They don't even bleed that much; it looks worse than it is. Right now, I just wanna get away from here." Trip was glad when he saw Malcolm nodding. In order to let Malcolm treat his injuries, he would've had to pull off his pants, and he had no idea how to accomplish this with these useless legs. Phlox wouldn't go to any trouble and just cut off the uniform. That's probably just as well, Trip thought, feeling a bitter smile tug on the corner of his mouth. He watched Malcolm sit down in the pilot seat and involuntarily held his breath. What if the aliens hadn't blocked only scanners and communications, but the shuttle's propulsion as well? What if he and Malcolm were stuck here on this planet without any possibility to contact Enterprise? If that was the case, then they would indeed be in quite a lot of trouble.

The engines roared. The sound of the thrusters powering up had never sounded more beautiful to Trip's ears than it did now. Slowly, Trip let the air escape from his lungs in one long sigh. Malcolm also seemed a lot less tense than he'd been only a moment ago. As Security Chief, he was aware of just how much could go wrong on a mission, and Trip could almost physically sense the relief that was radiating from him. Malcolm turned around and grinned.

"Hold tight, Commander, we're going home."

* * *

 

Archer was sitting in his ready room, staring at the screen in front of him. There was no sign whatsoever that there might have been problems down on the moon. Well, but even if Trip isn't looking for trouble the trouble will find him sooner or later, he thought a little cynically, but the thought didn't cheer him up in any way. This endless waiting was driving him crazy. He'd set T'Pol a deadline which would expire in not too long a time. If she hadn't come up with any results until then, he'd take shuttlepod two and go down to that moon to look for his officers. Suddenly he felt a tremble shaking the ship and sprang to his feet, hitting the panel beside the door and leaving the room.

"Report!" he barked as he stepped onto the bridge.

"It's a tractor beam, sir," said T'Pol, who was busily tapping away on her console, same as Ensign Mayweather at the helm.

"A tractor beam?"

"Indeed. It has its origin somewhere on the planet's surface, and it is locked firmly onto Enterprise."

Archer didn't ask any questions. There would be enough time for that later on.

"Increase speed, Ensign," he told Travis. "Try to shake it off. Hoshi, hail Engineering and tell them we're gonna need extra power."

The ship shook as Travis tried to get Enterprise free of the tractor beam, but nothing happened.

"Increase speed, Travis! Shouldn't be that hard to get away."

"Engineering to Bridge," a voice spoke up from the comm. Archer hit the button.

"This is Hess, sir. We have to throttle down, or there'll be an overload. And I don't want to know what the Commander's gonna do to us if that happens."

Archer sighed in exasperation. "Very well, Travis, shut it down. For now." He turned his head, looking at his officers. "I'm open for any suggestions." He fixed T'Pol with a piercing glance. "And I want to know why we're suddenly caught in a tractor beam, and how we can get away."

"Sir! They're coming back!"

Archer looked at Mayweather. "What is it, Ensign? What do you mean?"

"Shuttlepod one, sir." Travis dark features displayed a wide grin. "I got them on close range sensors."

Quickly, the Captain got to his feet. "Can we hail them?" he asked, looking at Hoshi, but she shook her head.

"Negative, sir. The frequencies are still being jammed."

"Will they be able to dock despite the tractor beam?"

"That shouldn't be a problem, Captain."

"Alright. Open the shuttle hangar, Travis." Archer was already on his way to the turbolift. "Tell Phlox he's needed in shuttle bay one."

On his way to the shuttle hangar Jonathan Archer broke his own personal record. A couple of crewmen had to jump out of his way as he ran down the corridors. As soon as the shuttlebay doors had swung close and the hangar pressurized, Archer already opened the shuttle's hatch.

"Trip, Malcolm, are you alright?" His heart skipped a beat as he saw Trip lying on one of the rear benches. Trip's uniform was dirty and torn, and there were blood stains on the uniform pants. Through the ripped cloth Archer could see scratches and lacerations. "Trip!" he exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Jus' a few scratches, Cap'n, nothin' serious," Trip said, trying to sound reassuring. He knew, though, that he couldn't keep the bad news from Archer. "The real problem is, I can't move my legs."

"You can't move them?" Uncomprehendingly, Archer looked back at Trip's legs. The injuries did look rather nasty but couldn't possibly have this kind of effect. Or could they?

Malcolm got up from the pilot seat. "The aliens injected something into his spine that's causing the paralysis," he explained curtly.

"Aliens?" Archer's face displayed utter confusion. Studying Malcolm's weary features, he realized that the Armory Officer was close to collapsing. That moment, he felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

"Please, Captain," said Phlox, "step aside and let me tend to my duties." The Doctor ran his med scanner over Trip, then ordered two of his assistants to carefully put him onto a gurney and take him down to sickbay.

"What's wrong with him, doc?" Jonathan asked.

"I'll tell you as soon as I know more, Captain. Why don't you accompany Lieutenant Reed to sickbay and let him give you a short report about what happened." Phlox gave his captain a smile and hurried after the med team.

Archer took a deep breath. "Well, Malcolm," he said then, "let's do what the doc said."

Malcolm straightened his shoulders. "I'm fine, Captain. I don't need to go to sickbay. Phlox has to take care of Trip now."

"He will," Archer said gently. "But you need help as well, even if it's only a bed to lie down for a while." He took Malcolm by the arm and guided him to the hatch. Malcolm stumbled and would have fallen, but two strong arms caught him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Uh... thank you, Subcommander," he said, and carefully, T'Pol released him.

"You are welcome, Lieutenant. You seem to be very exhausted."

"He is." Jonathan Archer climbed out of the shuttle, and, putting the Lieutenant's arm around his shoulders, he took him around the waist, supporting him.

"Captain..." Malcolm protested, obviously quite uncomfortable with accepting aid from his captain. However, when he felt his knees buckle and give way, he was grateful for the support.

* * *

 

Jonathan Archer couldn't keep his hands still. He forced himself to stay put and sit still on his chair, but he just couldn't resist the urge to nervously drum his fingers on the armrest. T'Pol gave him a slightly irritated glance. She seemed to be as calm and composed as always, but Archer could see the small signs that told him his science officer, too, was deeply concerned. She had barely been able to keep the astonishment from showing on her face when Lieutenant Reed had told them about the aliens down on that moon, about the cloaked building, the gigantic power source and last but not least about the serum the strangers had injected Trip with. Archer had seen the look on Phlox' face, and he was worried, just as T'Pol was. Just as the rest of the senior crew were. Eventually, Phlox had all but kicked him out of sickbay, and at the moment, Archer was keeping himself from contacting Phlox yet again to ask him if he'd already come up with any results. The doc wouldn't be able to tell him any more than he had told him five minutes ago, and his remark that he would be able to work much more efficiently if he wasn't disturbed every ten minutes had been quite clear. Besides, there was still that tractor beam that was still locked onto Enterprise with unwavering force, no matter what they did.

In the meantime, however, they'd managed to make some sense of all the data. Fact was, there were some kind of beings living on that moon, in an area that covered less than one square kilometer. They had some power source that could produce the cloaking field as well as jam all comm and scan signals, and that could even keep a starship of Enterprise's size caught in a tractor beam. The potential danger to his ship and the crew were all too present in Archer's mind. What was even worse, though, was that feeling of helplessness. He just didn't know what to do. Simply surrendering and waiting for the aliens to blow them to pieces, all the time caught in that tractor beam like a trapped animal, that was not an option. He was aware of the fact that these strangers were out to destroy his ship. Whatever they were doing down on that moon, it wasn't meant to be seen by anyone, and it did seem like they were very keen on keeping Enterprise from getting away.

"Phlox to Archer!"

"Archer here. What's new, doc?"

"If you got a minute, I'd like you and T'Pol to come down to sickbay."

"On our way." Archer threw a glance in T'Pol's direction, but she'd already left her station and was standing next to the turbolift door, waiting for him. The worried looks of the bridge crew followed them as they stepped into the lift.

"Did you notice Phlox' tone?" Jonathan asked.

"No, I did not, Captain."

"He didn't sound happy at all."

"You are assuming he does not have any good news to tell us?"

Archer looked at T'Pol who'd raised both her eyebrows. He knew that she was concerned for Trip just as much as he was, even if she didn't let it Show.


	7. Chapter 7

Straightening his posture, Jonathan Archer watched the sickbay doors slide open, determined not to let any of his worry show when he faced his friend. Trip was lying on one of the biobeds, raising his head when Archer entered. On the adjoining bed lay Malcolm, soundly asleep. Archer smiled slightly at the sight.

"He carried me all the way, Cap'n," Trip said quietly. "I thought he'd collapse in this thin air, but he's as tough as they come."

"He is," Archer agreed, patting Trip jovially on the shoulder. "And you are, too. How do you feel?"

"I'm alright. Doc has taken good care of those grazes. I think he's plannin' to stick another one of his slimy critters into me, but so far I managed to prevent that happenin'."

The Captain laughed, but became serious again when he saw Phlox coming around the corner. The Denobulan's usually serene features were creased with worry. Alarmed, Trip propped himself up on his elbows.

"Doc?"

Phlox turned to the Captain and T'Pol, who stood silently next to Archer. "I've analyzed the Commander's blood and run several tests on him. It looks like he was injected with a nerve poison that blocks the connection between his brain and the motoric nerves in his legs. Strangely, though, the sensual nerves are not affected. Commander Tucker is able to feel his legs, but he cannot move them."

"What kind of nerve poison would have that effect, doctor?"

There was a moment's hesitation, then Phlox said: "I don't know."

Trip's eyes grew wide. "What d'ya mean, you don't know?"

Phlox turned his head to look at him. "The neurotoxin consists of several substances that are completely unknown to me. I don't know what they are made of, I don't know what effects they have and why they would affect only the nerves in your legs. And I'm afraid I don't know how to neutralize them. Not yet, at least."

Silence fell as the full meaning of Phlox' words slowly sank in. T'Pol raised her eyebrows and Archer took in a sharp breath, but Trip only stared at the doctor. He swallowed dryly.

"D'ya mean you can't help me, doc? My legs will stay paralyzed?"

"I'm afraid so, Commander. This doesn't mean that I'm ready to give up, though. I'm sure that with T'Pol's assistance I'll sooner or later find a cure."

It didn't sound very convincing, though. Trip's face was drained of all color when he looked at the Captain. "Jon," he whispered hoarsely.

Taking Trip's hand, Archer squeezed it tightly, feeling his chest contract at the pain on his friend's face. His Chief Engineer was paralyzed. Trip was no longer able to walk. And they all realized that it might as well be permanent. What could he say? Jonathan swallowed. "Don't give up hope just yet, Trip. Phlox has worked one or the other miracle before. All you'll need is a little patience."

Trip gave no answer. He had his eyes closed, his breathing coming in ragged shallow gasps. Jon saw a single tear falling from the Commander's eye and running down his temple. Gently he reached out and wiped it off. "I'm here, Trip," he assured his friend. "Whatever happens, we're gonna get through this together."

Phlox pressed a hypo against Trip's neck. "He'll sleep until tomorrow," he said to Archer. "With your permission I'll have T'Pol take a look at my test results. Not that there is much of a result," he added in an unusually frustrated tone of voice. The Captain had never seen him like this before. Usually, Phlox would see something positive even in the most dire of situations.

"Of course, doc." Jon felt Trip's hand grow limp in his own and gently placed it on the bed. With a last glance at his friend's face which relaxed as he slipped deeper into slumber Jon turned around - and met the eyes of his Security Officer who was staring at him with an expression of utter shock and dismay on his face.

* * *

 

His eyes still closed, Trip heaved a sigh and yawned, feeling wonderfully rested after a good night's sleep. Soon his alarm clock would ring, telling him that it was time to get up and start a new day in Engineering. But Trip wasn't willing yet to open his eyes and take a look at the clock. Surely he had still five minutes time left. He shifted. Somehow he felt strange. And the bed was different, too, not at all like his own. More like one of the biobeds in sickbay.

Then the memories hit him like a ton of bricks. He _was_ in sickbay. He _was_ lying in a biobed. And his legs were paralyzed. His sleepiness completely gone, Trip tried to move them. He felt them under the covers, but they wouldn't move.

"No," Trip whispered when yesterday's events and their consequences came back full force. For several minutes he simply lay there, unable to formulate a clear thought while the memories flooded his mind and left him to deal with the cold reality of what had happened. Phlox could not help him. The doctor had no idea what kind of nerve poison it was that the aliens had injected into the engineer's spine. It consisted of substances that no one aboard knew anything about, and thus couldn't be neutralized by anyone, not even Phlox.

Trip suppressed a sob. He was handicapped, a cripple for the rest of his life, most likely. Taking a look around, he noticed that the bed next to his was empty. Malcolm was probably back in the Armory, fit for duty after taking a good long rest. And what about Trip's duties? The Commander thought of his Engineering department, the narrow hallways, the stepladders, the catwalks. Without his legs he would be of no use there. He was of no use to Enterprise. Starfleet would order him back and find a replacement. What a way to return home. Commander Tucker, famous Chief Engineer of the starship Enterprise, coming back a cripple from a simple away mission whose only purpose had been to gather a few mineral samples. Trip squeezed his eyes shut to make the burning sensation go away. It was so humiliating. Suddenly a thought came to his mind and Trip felt an icy knot forming in his chest. Starfleet would send the Vulcans to pick him up. The mere idea of it made Trip's blood run cold. The thought of having to endure their rigid looks and faces for several long weeks while he had to rely on their assistance was worse than everything else.

"Good morning, Commander." Trip refused to open his eyes. How could Phlox sound so cheerful when Trip had just realized his life had come to an end?

"I know you're awake, Commander. I've got something for you."

Trip's curiosity got the better of him. Sighing, he raised his head. When he saw what Phlox had brought him, he only stared at the doctor with wide disbelieving eyes.

* * *

 

An hour later Jonathan Archer entered sickbay.

"You should have called me earlier," he said to Phlox in a reproachful tone of voice.

"Sorry, Captain," the doctor said pleasantly. "Commander Tucker needed some time to sort out his thoughts."

"How is he?"

"Physically fine. As for the rest... well, you can imagine, I think."

"Can't you do something for him?"

"I can give him a wheelchair."

Jon flinched. "That is unacceptable, doctor."

"I know, Captain, but at the moment that is the only help I can offer. Except for the fact that his legs won't respond to the impulses of his brain, Commander Tucker is in a fine condition. He's not suffering from any infection, he's not in pain and has no complaints except that he can't move his legs. Of course the new condition needs getting used to, and this will naturally come very hard on an agile man like him, but there is no reason for him to remain in sickbay any longer. I released him to his quarters, but he doesn't want to go."

Jon's eyes widened. "Trip doesn't want to leave sickbay?" he asked incredulously.

"No, Captain. He seems to be afraid of what might await him beyond these doors. Maybe you'll be able to convince him that his life doesn't end here. I think that is exactly what he believes."

Jon nodded, briefly closing his eyes, trying to find the strength he was going to need for this confrontation.

* * *

 

Trip was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. A few meters away stood a wheelchair. Jon surmised Trip had pushed it away so he wouldn't have to see it. There were also a few padds lying on the nightstand, but Trip ignored them as well. Jon gave them a brief glance.

"Lieutenant Hess brought them," Trip said without looking at Jon.

"And you're not interested in any of it?"

Trip merely shrugged.

"Hoshi was able to decode some of the data you brought from the surface." Drawing himself a chair, Jon took a seat next to the bed. "Seems like that species has its own written language that doesn't correspond at all with the verbal sounds you told us about. It's quite a difficult job, but Hoshi thinks she was able to class some of the mathematical symbols and as soon as she's done she'll be able to determine their number symbols. We might be well on the way to get access to their technology."

Again, Trip only gave an indifferent shrug. Jon watched him for a while when suddenly a thought came to his mind.

"Do you know Enterprise is caught in a tractor beam these aliens are generating?"

Trip's head snapped around. "No! When did this happen?"

"They activated it shortly before you came back aboard. T'Pol thinks that the data you downloaded might provide information we could use to block or deactivate it. She could use some help."

Trip swallowed with difficulty. "I can't do that, sir."

"Why?"

Trip tried to turn around to face Jon. Holding on to the edge of the bed he pulled himself onto his side, but his legs wouldn't move at all. Jon tried not to let the shock show on his face. Phlox' simple statement that Trip couldn't use his legs implied a lot more than only that mere fact.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," Trip whispered hoarsely. He hadn't missed the look in Jon's eyes. "I can't bear havin' everybody look at me like that, least of all T'Pol."

"Why T'Pol of all people?"

"Did it ever cross your mind that we wouldn't be in this situation if I had listened to T'Pol? She told me this mission was a stupid idea."

"Now wait a minute, Trip," Archer said defensively. "I sent you on this mission."

"Only because I suggested it. I wanted to bait her a little, show her that I was right and she wasn't. And now here I am, paralyzed, because I wouldn't listen to her advice. And she knows it."

"T'Pol's a Vulcan, remember? She'd never allow herself to feel that kind of emotion. And she'd never say 'I told you so'."

"Oh, she doesn't have to say it. She'll give me that cool stare of hers, raise her eyebrows and I'll know perfectly well what she's thinkin'."

"Trip. It's Malcolm's job to be paranoid, not yours. T'Pol is only being professional. And I don't believe she'd think of you in that way. Besides, you were right. There was a lot more in that area than her scanners would ever have detected."

"Yeah, and what did it get me? Useless legs and looks of pity."

"Trip, everybody's shocked about what happened to you, and they want to help you, but I'm sure there'll be no looks of pity."

Trip snorted derisively. Sighing inwardly, Jon racked his mind for arguments that would convince Trip that he was still a valuable member of the crew.

"Trip, when Rostov broke his leg and had to use crutches for a few days you didn't stare at him either."

"That was different, Jon. Mike Rostov had a broken leg. I'm a cripple. And it looks like I'm gonna be one for the rest of my life."

"Trip." Jon was at a total loss what to do. It hurt his very soul to hear Trip say these things in that bitter tone of voice.

"That's right, Jon," Trip said. "A cripple. Just look at me. Look at that wheelchair. How'm I supposed to run my department sittin' in that thing? You know how Engineerin' is designed. It won't work. And what use is a Chief Engineer who can't even reach the controls? Starfleet's gonna order me back anyway. Did ya tell Forrest yet?"

"The aliens are blocking our comm frequencies."

"Good. That way I got a last respite, after all."

"Dammit, Trip." Jon felt a sudden surge of anger. "Do you know what you're saying?"

"Sorry Cap'n. It jus' slipped out."

Jon gave his friend a long look. He knew now what was bothering the young engineer most of all.

"Listen Trip, no matter what Forrest says, the only place to help you is here aboard Enterprise."

"I don't think Starfleet's gonna agree with you there. Enterprise is an exploration vessel, not a hospital ship."

"But back on Earth they won't be able to help you. Phlox hasn't yet exhausted his possibilities. Maybe we'll find a cure in that database when we've found a way to access it. T'Pol said it contains an extensive amount of data. And if we don't find anything in there, then maybe there's another species who are familiar with these substances and who are willing to help us. And that's exactly what I'm going to tell Starfleet in case they give us any trouble."

"And the Vulcans, too?" Trip allowed himself a small smile.

"The Vulcans, too," Archer assured him. "I won't let them take you away, Trip. You belong on Enterprise. It wouldn't be the same without you. You're much more than only Chief Engineer and Second Officer. The crew loves you, no matter whether you're able to walk or not."

Trip grimaced.

"We'll find a way, Trip. Believe me, that wheelchair isn't the end of the road for you. I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it for a while, though."

Casting a glance at the wheelchair, Trip shuddered.

"Charles Tucker, the cripple," he mumbled dully. "I never thought I'd end up like this."

"Then don't go thinking of yourself that way." Patting Trip on the shoulder, Jon got up. "You may not be able to walk, but as long as you find the strength to deal with it, you're not a cripple." Jon paused for a moment. "Gotta go back now. You go get some rest and don't let the whole thing drive you crazy. Everything's going to be alright."

Trip nodded, closing his eyes. If only he had been able to believe that.

* * *

 

"How is he?" Malcolm asked when Archer entered the ready room.

"Not so good."

"Then it'll be some time until Phlox releases him so he can help us?" Lieutenant Hess asked disappointedly.

"Phlox has already released him, but Trip doesn't want to go."

"Trip doesn't want to leave sickbay?" Malcolm and Hoshi asked in unison. They exchanged glances.

"So he's worse than I thought," Malcolm added.

"The fact that Phlox isn't able to help him hit him hard. But I'm sure he'll be alright."

"Yes, but when? We need him here." Hoshi cast a frustrated glance at the data displayed on her padd. "Lieutenant Hess thinks these passages might base on Pythagoras's theorem, but she can't tell for sure either."

"My guess is that this is a calculation of the cloaking field," T'Pol offered.

"You guess," Hoshi mumbled irritably. "Commander Tucker might know." She looked up. "Excuse me, Subcommander."

"You are absolutely right, Ensign," T'Pol answered calmly. "I have a certain knowledge of the matter, but I am not a gifted engineer like Commander Tucker. If there is anyone who would be able to make sense of these figures and blueprints, then it is he. His assistance would be of utmost use."

"Indeed it would." Lieutenant Hess sighed. "I used to think I knew quite a lot about machines, but this is just so complicated. Whenever I think I've understood one of the components I find it's connected with at least three others that make no sense at all."

Malcolm looked from one to the other, then fixed his eyes on Captain Archer. "Did I get you right, sir, that Phlox does not see any reason for Trip to still remain in sickbay? The Commander would be able to help us, but he prefers to lie around on his bed and act as if none of that was any of his business?"

Jon sighed. Malcolm's statement hit the nail on the head, but it sounded very harsh the way he put it.

"This whole thing is really getting him down, Lieutenant. He just needs a little time to think."

"But we don't have that time," Malcolm said, an exasperated undertone creeping into his voice. "It's not like we're trying to decode some ancient culture's hieroglyphs to find out how they used to make fire! We're caught in the tractor beam of a hostile species!"

"There is no use in getting upset, Lieutenant," T'Pol said in a calm tone of voice. "We cannot make Commander Tucker help us. It is quite a difficult situation for him, and when the Captain thinks he needs some more time we will just have to try and do without his advice."

"I'll talk to him again tonight," Jon decided. "Now that he's had some time to think about what I told him earlier, maybe he's feeling a little more optimistic than before."

"Let us take a look at these schematics," T'Pol suggested, calling up some kind of sophisticated blueprint. "This could be the main reactor. Do you recognize any of these symbols, Ensign?"

Hoshi frowned. "If you could tell me what those components do I might be able to make sense of them."

For about an hour they busied themselves with trying to decode the alien symbols, but didn't make much of a progress. When Hoshi murmured again that Trip would surely know the solution to this problem, Reed had had enough.

"Oh for pity's sake!"

Slamming his padd down on the table, he jumped up and stomped out of the room.

"Now what was that about?" Lieutenant Hess asked.

Hoshi smiled. "I think he's off to get us some help."

T'Pol raised an inquiring eyebrow.

* * *

 

Malcolm looked down at his friend. "We need to talk, Trip."

"Leave me alone, Mal." Trip was lying on his side, not bothering to look at Malcolm.

"Come on, Trip, doc says there's no reason for you to stay in bed."

Trip didn't move, trying to ignore Malcolm.

"Trip! We need you!"

Trip was still staring into space, but his voice was angry as he lashed out at Malcolm. "I told you to leave me alone, Lieutenant. So why don't you just get the hell outta here?"

Malcolm frowned. He knew this wasn't easy for Trip, but by now he was beginning to feel angry as well.

"No, I won't get the hell out of here, Trip. I'm the Security Officer of this ship, and we're caught in some alien tractor beam. Can you imagine it's driving me crazy, having no idea how to protect the ship? Hoshi's busy decoding the alien language, but she doesn't understand most of the technological terms. It's driving me nuts the way she keeps muttering you'd be able to understand these schematics."

"T'Pol understands them too."

"Not the way you do." Pressing his lips together, Malcolm rubbed one hand over his head. Trip's indifference was making him angry.

"Hess can take care of it."

"And what are you going to do?" Malcolm asked more vehemently than he'd intended to. "Lie around on that bed and wait for the world to come to an end? That's not what I carried you out of that building for, Commander. So you could lie around reveling in self-pity while your crew needs you to help save the ship. You may not be able to walk, but as far as I know, your head's in perfect working order." Malcolm noticed that he was shouting, and fought to keep his voice down, but his anger was still evident in his tone as he continued. "I don't understand you, Trip, how can you just lie around here when the ship's in danger? This is not the Trip Tucker I came to know. The Trip Tucker I know would try to make the best of things. He wouldn't simply give up. But I see it's no use, trying to talk to you."

Malcolm left, but when he'd reached the door he stopped to turn around one more time. His voice was very quiet and full of disappointment when he cast one last glance at Trip. "Maybe I should try to send those aliens a message," he said sarcastically. "Tell them they did just fine. Our best officer is so demoralized that he does no longer care a shit what happens to this ship and her crew. They'd be pleased to hear it."

Malcolm turned around and left. He never noticed the shocked expression on the engineer's face as Trip stared at his friend's back.


	8. Chapter 8

Malcolm Reed stared down at his padd. He didn't need a translator to know that these were blueprints of weapons he was looking at. The tactical officer felt a shiver run down his spine as he thought of the damage firearms of that power could cause. It seemed like the base down on the moon's surface wasn't equipped with these kind of weapons, though; otherwise Trip and he wouldn't have been able to make such an easy escape. He grimaced. Well, maybe "easy" wasn't quite the word he'd been looking for. But it could have been a lot worse. If the aliens had offered any real resistance, there would have been no way he'd have been able to get Trip out of that building.

Trip. Malcolm felt guilt nag at the back of his mind. He'd been quite harsh with his friend earlier. Trying to think of how he'd feel in the Commander's place, lying in a sickbay bed, paralyzed from the waist down, Malcolm shuddered involuntarily. Trip was going to need a lot of time and support to get used to this situation. But at the moment time was a luxury they simply couldn't afford.

Malcolm heard the door slide open and raised his eyes. Liz Cutler entered the room, pushing a wheelchair with Trip sitting in it. The engineer had his hands clenched together in his lap and didn't dare to look up, obviously afraid of how his fellow officers were going to react.

"Commander," Hoshi exclaimed, her face lighting up when she saw him. "I'm so glad you came."

"Well, the message was quite clear." Trip's voice sounded unsteady and he was clearly feeling uncomfortable. Taking a deep breath, Malcolm lowered his eyes, guiltily staring down at the floor. He knew that he'd hurt Trip, saying these things. Seeing him look so helpless in that wheelchair was almost more than Malcolm could bear, and suddenly he understood why Trip had preferred to stay in sickbay. Malcolm inwardly cursed himself for the cruel things he'd hurled at his friend, realizing that most of his anger had been directed at himself, after all, at his own inability to play an active part in the decoding of that database. He wanted to say something, to apologize to Trip, but no sound came out.

Stepping back from her console, T'Pol studied Trip for a moment, then clasped her hands behind her back.

"I ask your forgiveness, Commander."

Trip looked up at her, an astonished look on his face. "Forgiveness? What for, Subcommander?"

"I misinterpreted the situation. I should have taken into consideration that something beside the magnetic minerals was blocking the scanners. I should not have neglected the fact that this area, as small as it might be, might prove a potential danger. My carelessness caused your condition, Commander, and I regret that."

Perplexed, Trip stared at the Vulcan. Of all the things he'd expected, it certainly hadn't been T'Pol blaming herself for his injury and offering an apology.

"Nonsense, T'Pol," he said dismissively. "What happened down on that moon isn't your fault. We went down there against your explicit warnings, remember?"

"Then my warning apparently was not explicit enough."

"If I didn't know better I'd say you're feelin' guilty, T'Pol." Trip grinned and for the first time since he'd come back from the surface some of the old sparkle returned into his eyes.

And I thought Vulcans suppressed their emotions, he continued in thought, but he didn't say it. He'd been quite afraid of what T'Pol was going to say, and her reaction had been so different from what he'd been expecting that he didn't want to get her angry with him just now.

"No one's to blame for what happened to me," he said instead. "Nobody except maybe these nice creatures down there on the surface. And that's exactly why we should try and get away from here ASAP. Well, lemme take a look at that data."

* * *

 

The database was impressive. Trip forgot all about his legs as he studied the blueprints of the reactor. If he'd been able to install that baby on Enterprise, the Vulcans' technology would look all but pathetic in comparison. Trip liked the thought of that. His priority, however, was the tractor beam. Trip did a few complicated calculations to find out how it worked, but their odds of pulling free from it didn't look good. There had to be a way, though; he only needed to find it.

Stretching, Trip rubbed his back with his knuckles. If he'd only been able to get rid of that damn pain. The muscles in his back were burning like fire. At his soft moan of pain, T'Pol looked up from her console.

"You are not sitting comfortable, Commander," she stated.

"I know." Trip grimaced. "It's quite difficult when you can't use your feet as support." He gave her a lop-sided grin. "Guess I'm just afraid of fallin' out of that thing."

T'Pol stepped up behind him. "Lean forward, Commander."

Trip stared at her in disbelief. "D'you know what you're askin' of me, Subcommander?"

"I will hold you." Reaching out from behind, T'Pol wrapped one arm around Trip's chest. "Lean forward," she repeated. Trip obeyed and instantly felt himself lose his balance. Holding the Commander in a firm grip, T'Pol felt his back until she'd found a certain place between his vertebrae. Pressing it hard, she pulled Trip's upper body back with a jerk. Trip felt something in his spine give a small "crack", then the irritating pain was gone.

"Better?" T'Pol asked.

"Much better, Subcommander. Thanks a lot."

"You are welcome. The center of gravity in your body has changed, Commander. You need to take that into consideration while balancing your weight in this position. I surmise it will not take you very long to adjust to it. If you experience any more pain, feel free to come to me anytime."

* * *

 

At this time of day messhall was empty, most of the crew being off-duty and in their quarters. At a table in the corner sat a single person, staring down at a few padds in front of him. But Trip wasn't really seeing them. He was deep in thought; the events back on that moon, Phlox' test results and his own future kept coming back to his mind. He had no idea what he was going to do now.

In the afternoon of that day, Phlox had taken him back to sickbay, all but ordering him to lie down for a while to take some of the strain off his back. After sleeping for a few hours Trip had woken up and actually found himself feeling a lot better than before. Then Phlox had come to show him a few tricks how to keep a better balance or pull himself from his bed into the wheelchair. Not that Trip had been very eager to hear about it. It made the whole thing seem so final, as if he'd already accepted the fact that he was now a handicapped person. And Trip wasn't yet ready to do so. He was sure Phlox was going to find a cure. And soon.

Phlox however had only smiled at him in that unique way of his, raising his eyebrows.

"Commander, if you don't want to listen to what I say, just tell me and I won't waste my time explaining all this to you. You don't have to learn these things if you don't want to."

"I don't?" Trip gave the doctor a surprised look.

"No, of course not." Phlox patted him on the shoulder in a slightly patronizing way. "This ship is full of people who'd be happy to help you. I'm sure there'll always be someone to put you into your bed, wash you and help you dress. I for one would be delighted to lift you onto the toilet seat whenever you need me to."

Trip swallowed, then looked up in resignation. "Could you show me again how to do that, doc? I'll pay attention this time, promise."

Trip smiled sourly as he remembered that conversation. Phlox had indeed a very subtle way of pointing things out. It was true, Trip didn't know how long he was going to be in this condition, and it was unacceptable to be more of a burden to his friends than he absolutely had to.

"More coffee, Commander?"

Looking up, Trip saw Chef standing in front of him with a steaming pot of coffee in his hand.

"Thanks, Chef." He offered him his empty cup. He wasn't even able to get himself a cup of coffee and Chef knew it. In that unobtrusive way of his he had come by his table earlier, bringing Trip a tray with food and an extra large piece of pecan pie. And every half an hour or so he was back with some fresh coffee.

Trip watched him disappear in the galley. He knew Chef's shift had ended quite some time ago, and Trip surmised the only reason he was still there was to bring him coffee and thus show him that he was there for him. Trip found his heart warm at the subtle way the crew were showing their concern for him.

"Commander?"

At the sound of Malcolm's voice the engineer raised his head and saw the Lieutenant standing at attention in front of the table.

"We need to talk."

"About insubordination, Lieutenant? I've already been talkin' to the Cap'n, asked him if he could use another steward."

Trip's only intention had been to poke a little fun at the stiff officer, but when he saw the dismayed look on Reed's face he instantly regretted his words.

"Malcolm! You don't think I'm bein' serious, do you? Come on, relax a little and sit down, I'm gettin' a cramp in the neck from lookin' up at you."

Malcolm cringed inwardly, but did as he was told. "Commander," he began formally, "the things I said today..."

"Were quite justified."

Trip's interruption left Malcolm even more confused. "What?" he asked incredulously. "That was anything but justified, Commander. Damnit, I said you were reveling in self-pity, accused you of letting us down while I was standing there on my own healthy legs..."

Malcolm rubbed his hand over his head, avoiding to meet Trip's eyes as he searched for words to express his feelings.

"Relax, Malcolm. And forget about the Commander, okay?" Trip smiled. "Want some coffee?" He pushed his cup over the table towards Malcolm.

Malcolm sighed. "I'm really sorry for the things I said. Maybe it was because you looked like you were just fine and all, lying in that bed, as if there was nothing wrong with you." Malcolm took a sip of Trip's coffee. "I know the last thing you need is pity, but, you know, when Liz brought you to the ready room earlier, it really gave me quite a shock. Some things you realize only when you actually see them. That wheelchair..." Malcolm shuddered. "I think until that moment I didn't realize what kind of situation it is that you have to put up with now. And I understand why our current problems would seem secondary in comparison, even if they mean danger to the ship. And well, Trip, actually I came here to apologize and... I'm really feeling awful..."

"Now give it a break, Mal." Trip put a hand on Malcolm's arm. "It's okay, really."

"You're not angry with me?"

"Oh I was, buddy, believe me." Trip grinned. "I was so angry I wanted to run after you and give you a good kick in the behind. And the fact that I couldn't do it made me even angrier. Leavin' sickbay would've meant givin' up that bed I'd taken refuge in. I felt so damn helpless, Mal, havin' to listen to all that without bein' able to do somethin'. But when I'd calmed down a little I realized I could do somethin' after all. I just needed to snap out of it and get out of that bed. And then I started actually thinkin' about what you'd said, that Enterprise was in danger and you needed me to save her."

"The Captain told you the same."

"Yes, but he was so damn understandin' and didn't make it sound urgent. At least I got the impression that you were doin' just fine without me."

"Oh I see. You thought we'd think you were useless without your legs?"

Trip cringed inwardly as he heard his friend put his exact feelings into words. Well, Malcolm had never been one to mince matters. Still, it felt good, being able to finally talk about these things, to share his feelings with someone.

"Yeah, I guess that's what I thought. But then you came and made it quite clear to me that I was still needed. That maybe it isn't all about bein' able to climb around in Engineerin' but that there are other things I can do. Maybe that lecture was just what I needed. That's what real friends are for, givin' it to you straight when you need it. I hate to admit it, but if it hadn't been for you I'd still be lyin' in that bed in sickbay, broodin' on my fate."

"So you're not anymore?"

Trip thought for a moment. It was so hard to put these feelings into words. "You know, there are two sides to it," he said then. "That feelin' of helplessness is just awful. It really gets me down. I've been sittin' here for quite a while now, afraid of callin' Phlox so he can take me to my quarters and help me get ready. He's been showin' me some tricks earlier, but I still have no idea how to undress or get into my bed without landin' on the floor. I can't even get myself a cup of coffee. That's so frustratin' I feel like screamin' and shoutin' at times. But on the other hand there's the feelin' that all of this is jus' some kinda test. That it isn't forever, you know? I still believe Phlox'll find a cure, and soon, even though he made it quite clear that the odds aren't exactly in my favor." Trip shrugged. "Maybe it'd be easier if I couldn't feel my legs, if they were dead. But they're there. I feel it when the muscles cramp, it hurts when I accidentally bump that damn wheelchair against the wall and hit my knees, and sometimes when they decide to really give me a hard time, they'll start itchin' like mad."

Trip paused, trying to remember what it was that he'd actually been about to say. "My body jus' feels too normal. Half the time I'm waitin' for my legs to start movin' again, thinkin' I'll be able to get up and walk, jus' like that."

"Or Phlox will find a cure, after all."

"I hope he will, and soon. All this sittin' around is gonna drive me nuts some day." Trip sighed. "Wouldya tell Phlox he can come and take me down to my quarters now?"

Malcolm noticed the look of unease in the Commander's eyes. Trip hated being a burden to anyone, even though the doctor claimed he was only doing his job by helping him.

"Would you prefer a friend to help you?" Malcolm asked carefully.

Trip raised his eyes. "I can't ask that of you, Mal."

"I carried you across that moon, Commander. I think I should be able to get you ready for bed." Malcolm smiled. "I really don't mind, Trip. If it's okay with you, of course."

Trip heaved another deep sigh. "Alright. Tell Phlox I won't need him anymore today."

* * *

 

It was shortly past midnight when Jon Archer punched in his security code, opening the door to Trip's quarters. The room was dark, but Jon's form was clearly silhouetted against the light of the corridor as he carefully peered inside.

"Come in, Cap'n." Trip was lying on his bed, raising his head when Archer entered.

"I just wanted to check on you," Archer said apologetically. "I thought you were asleep."

"Shoulda skipped that last cup of coffee." Trip grimaced.

"Keeps you awake, huh?"

"No." Trip shook his head with a rather helpless expression on his face. "It's just that... it wants to get out again."

Jon burst out laughing.

"Glad you think it's so funny," Trip grumbled.

"Sorry, mate." Jon was still grinning. "Want me to help you?"

"Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I? You're not the first one today, after all."

The Captain couldn't help but notice how Trip tensed up when he lifted him off the bed. The younger man was clearly feeling uncomfortable.

"That bad?" Jon asked.

"I don't wanna be a burden to you, Malcolm, Phlox..."

"If the roles were reversed, Trip. If I was in your place, or Malcolm. They could have gotten him just as easily. If it was him who'd been injected with that poison, if it was him lying here, would you want to help him?"

"Course I would. That goes without sayin'."

"And would you think of him as a burden?"

"Course not."

"Then do stop thinking of yourself in that way. We feel just the same about you."

Jon brought Trip to the bathroom, helping him back to bed afterwards.

"Phlox told me Malcolm's been helping you this evening."

Trip snorted. "He was bein' a downright motherhen." He closed his eyes. "I hate bein' so helpless." He'd lost count of how many times today he'd said these words, aloud or in thoughts.

"I can understand that."

Trip gave him a lop-sided grin. "Malcolm's gonna come by tomorrow before his shift starts. He promised to help me work on these things. Phlox showed me how to do it, but I still need lots of practice. Ya know, if I do have to use that wheelchair, then I wanna be able to handle it. I wanna be able to go to bed, dress myself and I wanna be able to go to the bathroom without fallin' headfirst into the damn toilet."

Again, Jon couldn't help but laugh. Maybe recognizing the humorous aspects was the only approach to the situation that didn't leave you indulging in self-pity. Jon regarded his friend full of admiration. Trip hadn't become Chief Engineer and Second Officer of this ship by running away from his problems, but by facing them, tackling each new adversity with that unwavering optimism of his and trying to find solutions. If there was anyone who was able to master this situation, then it was Trip. After a short period of depression he was already back at his former easy-going self, refusing to let recent events get him down, trying to make the best out of the situation.

"Well, that sounds quite ambitious," Jon said. "You should take one step at a time."

"Malcolm made it quite clear to me that I don't have the time to take it slowly."

"He yelled at you." An angry frown appeared on Jon's face. "Phlox told me all about it."

"Forgiven an' forgotten. He seemed to be quite angry at himself as well."

"Yes, because all his own efforts proved to be futile in the end. I think in a way he feels just as helpless as you do."

"What efforts?"

Jon gestured at the padds lying on Trip's table. "It's all in the reports."

"I didn't get very far with those; somehow my thoughts keep wanderin'. Why don't you just tell me 'bout it?"

"Malcolm tried this morning to interrupt the tractor beam. But without knowing its frequency our odds of blocking it are not very good."

"Their technology is far more advanced than ours. There's no way we can adjust our instruments to their frequencies."

"How do you know that?" Surprised, Archer leaned forward in his chair.

"I found out today. But it won't get us anywhere. Did Malcolm try anythin' else?"

"Everything he could think of. He even sent an energy impulse into the beam, hoping he might be able to destroy its source that way."

"I take it that plan didn't work either?"

Jon shifted uneasily on his chair. "Don't ask me how they did it, but somehow they managed to double the impulse's impact and send it back, right into our warp engine."

"Ouch!"

"If it had been online, the warpcore would have overloaded. We were damn lucky the engines were down at the time."

"We'd need supplemental energy to be able to pull free from that tractor beam," Trip said thoughtfully. "Enterprise's energy supplies won't be enough."

"But the impulse they sent was destructive energy."

"Maybe we could transform it into constructive power." Trip paused, thinking. "Did Hoshi get anywhere with that database?"

"She's finished decoding it."

"She did?" Trip propped himself up on his elbows. "I need ta..."

Gently, Jon pushed him back down onto the pillow. "The only thing you need to do now is sleep, Trip. I sent Hoshi to her quarters, too. She and T'Pol have been working nonstop. We're on alert conditions, but it won't help any if my officers collapse on duty."

"Did you send T'Pol to her quarters as well?"

"I tried, but she only gave me that irritated stare of hers and said she needed a lot less sleep than a human."

"An' she's probably right. Did she come up with anythin' important yet?"

"At the moment she's analyzing the medical part of the database." Jon watched Trip for his reaction.

"The medical..." Trip broke off. "You're sayin' T'Pol is up to her pointy ears in work jus' to find that poison?" His voice had taken on a slightly hoarse tone.

"The cure, more likely." The Captain smiled. "How do you and T'Pol get along, Trip? Hoshi told me she set your back this afternoon."

"Oh yes." A smile appeared on Trip's face. "You shoulda seen the look on Malcolm's face. For a second or so, I actually thought he'd like to switch places with me." Trip became serious again. "She apologized to me. Can you believe that?"

"T'Pol never ceases to surprise me. She found out what that base down there is about."

"And?"

"They're terraformers, Trip. Seems they're trying to make the moon habitable for their people."

"Terraformers? Well, looks like they didn't get very far, then. That moon is miles away from bein' 'habitable'. There's not even a single plant down there."

"Maybe they've only just started, and this building is something like a research facility," Jon said. "They're probably still experimenting on producing a suitable atmosphere for their species."

Trip thought about it. Suddenly a number of things made a lot more sense than before. The different atmosphere beneath the cloaking dome, the reactor and the missing defense facilities. Most likely the scientists had only just started their project and were still busy getting settled on the surface. But why had they done this to him, then? You wouldn't expect peaceful scientists of all people to act so cruelly towards some stranger who accidentally came across their research complex.

Jon got up. "Try to get some sleep, Trip. Tomorrow there'll be enough time to think about all that. Do you want me to drop by your quarters in the morning?"

"Malcolm's doin' a great job, Cap'n. You got enough work as it is." Trip hesitated. "Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"Phlox said I'm on 'duty at own assessment'."

"Yes, you shouldn't exhaust yourself. Phlox'll keep an eye on you."

"That's not what I meant, Jon. I mean the uniform. Do I have to wear it?"

Jon understood immediately. It had to be all but impossible for Trip to get his legs into that jumpsuit.

"No, Trip, that's no problem. You can wear civvies as long as you want."

"Thanks, Cap'n."

"Good night, Trip."

* * *

 

When he came into the situation room the next morning, Trip was already feeling quite tired again. Malcolm had been a regular taskmaster earlier, taking no mercy on him as they'd practiced moving from the bed into the wheelchair, not giving him a break for over an hour. In the end, Trip's arms had hurt so bad that they gave way every time he tried to lean on them. But he could do it now. And he was quite proud of his achievement. Proud of something that had been so natural to him before and which now demanded all his strength and sense of balance if he wanted to do it right.

He'd just set himself to downloading some data onto his padd when Hoshi entered. As her eyes fell on him sitting there, she came over and flung her arms around his neck.

"Hey, what was that for?" Trip smiled at her.

"T'Pol found the cure." Hoshi was beaming like a little girl on Christmas Eve. Trip stared at her.

"The cure?" Could it really be true?

Hoshi nodded, her eyes sparkling as she answered. "T'Pol's been down in sickbay with Phlox all morning." She put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from starting off towards the door just now. "Phlox said he needs you to come and see him in the afternoon at the earliest. They have to run some tests and of course synthesize the serum first." Hoshi looked at him with an understanding smile on her face. "You think you can wait till then?"

Trip took a deep breath, a wave of relief washing over him. It was over. Phlox had found the cure. He closed his eyes, relishing that feeling of bliss and happiness. Hoshi hadn't taken her hand from his shoulder and he felt her grip tighten in a friendly squeeze. He put his hand over hers. "Thanks, Hoshi, that's the best news I got in a long time."

"See you for lunch? There's something to celebrate, after all."

Trip nodded absentmindedly. He couldn't think of anything else but of the fact that in not too long a time he wouldn't be a cripple anymore. He had to keep himself from setting off for sickbay right then and there, but he knew that he'd only be in Phlox' way. He also ignored the urge to talk to someone about it. Right now, he had to concentrate on his work, even if it might be difficult to do so. Enterprise was still caught in that tractor beam, after all, and the longer they stayed inactive, the more dangerous it got. He could very well imagine that these strangers had called home for help, and considering the aliens' superior means of technology, it might be a good thing if Enterprise wasn't here anymore when help arrived.

Trip made a mental check-list of the things to do next. First of all, he had some business in Engineering - that wasn't going to be easy, but he had a good crew down there, after all. He had to tell them to do some modifications, and after that he needed to find the Captain and talk to him about his plan. Well, and then there was something he had to tell Malcolm, and his friend wasn't going to like it at all. But that could still wait till lunch time.


	9. Chapter 9

"As soon as we're out of here, we're going to have a party," Travis announced, giving Trip a broad grin.

"We don't know yet when we're gonna be out of here, Ensign," appeased Trip. "And we don't know when the cure's goin' to take effect, either."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Hoshi said, chuckling. "I'm sure that by tonight, you'll be running around on your own legs again."

"Wouldn't be a bad thing. I could be doin' these modifications in Engineerin' myself instead of just orderin' my crew to do them."

"What's your plan?" Malcolm asked soberly, concentrating on the matters at hand.

"It's so simple, it hardly can be called a plan. We can't dissolve or neutralize the tractor beam, so we'll have to try and break free from it. Usin' every bit of power we can come up with."

"We can't generate enough power."

"That's where the problem is. I've done a few evaluations, and I think with a few modifications we'll be able to use that impulse they sent back from the surface to get the power we need."

"A few modifications?" Malcolm grimaced.

"Trust me, Lieutenant. You're goin' to do the same thing you did in that last experiment of yours. Let's hope they're goin' to sent back an amplified impulse, just like they did before. I think I can reroute it so it'll give us a little more thrust. And, of course, I'm gonna need all the ship's internal power." Trip hesitated. "Includin' weapons."

The Armory Officer stared at him. "You want to shut down our weapons? No way."

"We're not gonna need the weapons," Trip explained patiently. "There won't be any shootin' involved, but I need the power. In the end, I'm probably gonna shut down life support as well. We need to get away from here."

Malcolm still wasn't entirely convinced. With the weapons offline he always felt so vulnerable. But Trip was right. There was nothing he would be shooting at during this mission. Nothing but that tractor beam, and unfortunately the tractor beam wasn't being affected by his cannons.

"I could use some help down in Engineerin'." Trip gave him a half-apologetic, half-encouraging look. "You got a moment's time?"

"Sure. Without weapons, the tactical officer's got all the time in the world." Malcolm picked up Trip's plate and put it back onto the shelf together with his own. He turned around, and, looking at his friend, his high spirits returned. "Can I come with you to sickbay?"

Trip smiled. "Sure. Anyone else?"

"Sorry, Commander," Hoshi said regretful. "Travis and I have to go back to the bridge."

"We'll be expecting you there, Commander." Travis winked at Trip. "On your own legs."

"Deal, Travis."

* * *

 

"Nervous?" As they arrived at the sickbay doors, Malcolm gave Trip a questioning look.

"Kinda. I still can't believe it. But I can tell you, Malcolm, I'm not gonna miss this wheelchair."

"Maybe you can just leave it in sickbay when we're done."

"Don't get my hopes up, Mal. It could just as well take a few days till the cure's gonna take effect."

"Let's find out, what do you think?" Malcolm pressed the panel beside the door. "After you, Commander."

* * *

 

The moment Trip entered sickbay he knew something was wrong. Jon stood there, his back turned to him. With his hands, he was leaning on a biobed, fixing a spot on the opposite wall. And Phlox' expression didn't fit the happy news Hoshi had brought this morning, either. What was going on here? Trip's stomach clenched up and his throat suddenly felt very dry. He swallowed.

"I've heard that T'Pol found the cure." He hardly dared to speak the words. It seemed like by doing this, he was invoking misfortune.

The Captain didn't turn around, but his hands tightened their grip around the edge of the biobed, the knuckles turning white.

"Phlox can't give it to you, Trip." His voice was barely a whisper, and Trip almost thought he'd misheard him.

"What are you talking about?" It was Malcolm who had asked that question, while Trip was still trying to grasp the meaning of Jon's words.

"T'Pol found the toxin in the strangers' data base, and was also able to identify the antidote." Phlox' expression mirrored deep regret. "Unfortunately..."

"What?" Malcolm persisted irritatedly. Trip didn't say a word, keeping his gaze fixed on his clenched fingers in his lap.

T'Pol stepped forward, continuing the doctor's speech. "Unfortunately, the antidote consists of substances which are lethal to the human metabolism."

Trip felt Malcolm's fingers dig painfully into his shoulder. Incredulous he looked from T'Pol to Phlox. "What's the point in finding an antidote if it's lethal?"

"These aliens seem to have a completely different physiology," T'Pol explained. "Both serums were not meant to be used on humans; in fact, you were quite lucky that the first injection did not kill you. I deeply regret this failure, Commander."

"What's this supposed to mean exactly, doc?" Trip asked, his voice sounding hoarse. "You got a cure for the paralysis, but you can't give it to me because it would kill me?"

"Exactly."

"Can't you alter it somehow? Extract the lethal substances?"

Finally, Jon turned around. His face was pale. "I already talked to Phlox about this. He told me that it's just these substances which neutralize the toxin. Extracting them would lead to nothing. I'm sorry, Trip."

Trip looked from one to another, studying their faces. Jon looked angry, furious, while Phlox' expression displayed deep regret. T'Pol's features were composed as always, but her posture seemed to express a certain despondence. For a moment, Trip had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. He should've known. It would have been too easy. For him, things were not easy, ever. So this had been it. An antidote, developed by the same species who had developed the neurotoxin. What possibilities were left to him now? One look into Phlox' face told him the answer to that. None. Abruptly, Trip turned the wheelchair around, startling Malcolm who'd been standing next to him and had to take a quick step aside. "Come on, Lieutenant, we got work to do."

"Trip." Jon stepped forward, but stopped in his tracks when Trip tensed.

"We need to get our priorities right, Captain," he said stiffly without turning around. "We have to break free from that tractor beam."

* * *

 

The way down to Engineering neither of them spoke a word. As they stepped into the turbolift, Malcolm finally couldn't keep himself from speaking anymore. "Trip," he began, but Trip cut him off.

"Not now, Mal. Not now, okay?"

The Lieutenant nodded. Trip apparently didn't want to talk, and he could see the reason why. After all, he himself wasn't someone to let it all hang out either, but rather to keep his problems to himself. Trip needed time to come to terms with this new blow, which was even harder to take for they'd all been so confident that this would work. Fate had played a trick on Trip, had made him feel secure only to pull the ground from under his feet again, and Trip had fallen hard. It was just plain cruel. Even though Trip's physical condition had stayed the same since this morning, still so much else had changed for him.

* * *

 

They were standing in front of one of the Jeffries Tubes which ran along the back of Engineering. Malcolm had waited a few minutes while Trip had told his crew what to do. It was hard on Trip to be forced to delegate these crucial modifications. He trusted Lieutenant Hess, but he would've preferred to check the results himself. Grabbing a tool kit, he threw it into the Jeffries Tube, then looked up at Malcolm. "Could you gimme a hand, please," he said.

"You want to go in there?" Malcolm gave him an incredulous look. "There's only crawling space in there."

"Fine. I can't get up, anyway." There was bitterness clearly evident in Trip's voice.

"Someone else could do this."

"Maybe they could, if I knew what I'm goin' to do," Trip admitted. "I have to take a look at this first. Come on, Malcolm, there's no time for discussions."

Malcolm gave in. "But be careful," he said, lifting Trip high enough for him to be able to crawl into the Jeffries Tube. "These relays do carry a fair amount of power."

"You don't have to tell me that. See you in an hour, okay?"

Using his arms, Trip pulled himself along, pushing his tools along in front of himself. As he reached the panels, he got himself into a sitting position and carefully opened the lid. His eyes fell on the chaotic mess of wires, relays and EPS-conduits. He needed to be really careful if he didn't want to be fried. Sighing, Trip set himself to work.

'I deeply regret this failure, Commander.' T'Pol's voice echoed through his thoughts. I deeply regret that your legs are going to be paralyzed for the rest of your life, Commander, but it was a failure. Nothing one can do about it. T'Pol, as cold and unfeeling as ever. Who did she think she was?

A few sparks came showering from one of the relays, and only in the last second Trip pulled his hand back. He mustn't be unfair. T'Pol was T'Pol, it was her way and she couldn't change it. After all, she'd been working on that data base all night long to find that cure. It wasn't her fault that Phlox couldn't give it to him without killing him. The doctor's expression as he told him about the cure wouldn't leave him alone. It was obvious that Phlox didn't know what else to try, that he was as helpless as he himself was. Trip felt a burning sensation rise in his eyes. Dammit, he couldn't afford to give in to that now, he had to concentrate on his work. Impatiently, he ran a hand over his eyes, wiping away the haze which was clouding them up.

He was breathing heavily. Just a two minutes' break. Trip lay down on his back. Working in this Jeffries Tube was exhausting him. He always had to hold on to something so as not to lose his balance and fall. He could either work with one hand and steady himself with the other, or prop himself against the wall with his shoulder. Both options demanded time and strength, and after an hour, Trip was exhausted. But at least he'd managed to finish this. He regarded his handiwork. It should work. Well, it _should_. It was a very unsure thing. If he wasn't able to reroute that impulse correctly, if one of his evaluations was faulty or if the timing went wrong somehow, then Enterprise would be blown to pieces and his legs would be that last thing he had to worry about.

While putting the panel's lid back into place, Trip all of a sudden slipped and lost his balance. Trying to steady himself against the wall, he cut the back of his hand on a sharp metallic edge. Letting out a cry of pain, he pulled his hand back and landed on the floor, hard.

"Fuck it!" he yelled, and then he couldn't keep the tears at bay anymore. Sobs racking his body, Trip lay in the Jeffries Tube, crying in anger and frustration.

* * *

 

When Malcolm came back down to Engineering, he heard a strange sound. Immediately, he knew what it was, and was already about to leave again to give Trip some time to regain his control, when he remembered that they didn't have that time anymore.

"Trip?" he called quietly. "Trip, are you all right?"

The crying subsided. "I'm fine, Mal. You'll have to get me outta here, though."

"Sir?"

"I can't turn around, Malcolm. And crawlin' backwards is kinda hard, too. You'll have to pull me out by my feet."

Without hesitating, Malcolm climbed into the narrow Jeffries tube. A man could get claustrophobic in here, he thought, taking a deep breath. A few meters further into the Tube he saw Trip lying on the floor.

"Be right there," he said. "Long range sensors have picked up a vessel," he informed his friend.

"That was to be expected," sighed Trip. "How much time do we have left?"

"They're bloody fast. Warp eight at least." Malcolm had reached Trip and grabbed his ankles. "They'll be in shooting range in about thirty minutes." Pulling Trip along, Malcolm began crawling backwards.

"Dammit, that's not very long," Trip swore under his breath. "Hurry up, Malcolm, we gotta get outta here."

As Malcolm jumped out of the Jeffries Tube, he saw Crewman Rostov standing beside him. With his help, Malcolm began hauling Trip out of the Jeffries Tube. When they had him safely back in his wheelchair, Malcolm straightened up and took in a sharp breath. "Trip, what happened? You got blood all over your face."

"I cut my hand. Probably smeared the blood everywhere when I wiped my face."

Taking Trip's hand, Reed examined it closely. "That cut is quite deep, Commander. I'll get you to sickbay."

"We don't have time for that, Lieutenant," Trip said, using Reed's formal title to emphasize his status as Commanding Officer. "Mike, get the engines up and runnin'," he told Rostov, "and go ask Hess how much time she's still gonna need. It's gettin' a little urgent."

"Aye, Sir." Nodding, Rostov hurried off.

"You take care of that energy impulse, Malcolm. Send it down as soon as I tell you. And tell the Cap'n that I'm gonna shut down life support at about the same time. Oh, and tell him to evacuate the areas around the EPS relays on C- and D-Deck. It's likely that they're gonna blow."

Crewman Kelly came around the corner, holding a med kit in her hand. She got to her knees beside Trip. "Lieutenant Hess says she'll be finished in about ten minutes," she reported, handing her boss a wet towel so he could clean his face, then taking care of the cut in his hand.

"Very good." Trip nodded and turned back to Malcolm. "Tell Travis to stand by. Basically it's him who the plan depends on."

"Let's hope we'll make it in time," Malcolm murmured. He had a bad feeling about shutting down the weapons while a potentially hostile ship was approaching Enterprise.

"Let's hope we'll make it at all." Trip gave Malcolm a scrutinizing look. "Well, let's get to work, Lieutenant."

* * *

 

On the bridge, the atmosphere was tense. Everyone was hunched over their stations, keeping their eyes fixed on the displays. Travis was nervously drumming his fingers on the helm's console, and Malcolm had to mobilize all his willpower to keep from snapping at him. After all, he would've liked to do the same thing. On the outside, he seemed absolutely calm, the controlled and composed tactical officer. Inside, however, things were different. The hostile ship would be here in only a few more minutes, and there was still no call from Engineering. They were waiting for Trip's signal, and Malcolm knew how hard it was for Archer to keep from hailing Engineering every five minutes to ask for a status report.

"They're in shooting range, sir." Malcolm kept his voice level, forcing his frustration not to show in his tone. The hostile vessel was in shooting range, and weapons were offline. Great. Just great.

"Polarize hull plating, Lieutenant."

"They're firing, sir."

Enterprise shook and jerked as she was hit by the weapons of the alien ship.

"Hull plating's stable," Reed said.

"Dammit Trip," Archer cursed under his breath. "Come on!"

"Tucker to bridge."

"Finally, Trip, we're being fired at."

"I noticed. Travis, we're going to try and break free now. Go to maximum speed and try to get away in a one hundred and ten degrees to starbord. Malcolm, stand by with that energy impulse. Hoshi, keep the channel open. Now, Travis."

The ship trembled as it fought against the tractor beam's hold. Lights went out as Trip rerouted the power from life support to the engines, leaving only the feeble glow of emergency lighting. Again, the aliens fired, and excited calls came through the open comm channel.

"Hull plating at forty seven percent," Reed reported calmly.

"Malcolm! The impulse! Now!" Trip shouted.

The Armory Officer reacted immediately. Along with the impulse that sped along the tractor beam he sent a silent prayer. He sincerely hoped that this would work out alright.

Travis was still trying to get Enterprise free of the tractor beam. The helm was trembling, and he had to hold on to it with both hands.

"Hull plating at twenty two percent." Reed's voice sounded eerie in the low lighting and the angry humming of the engines. "Impact of impulse backshift - now!"

The ship jerked and suddenly leaped forward. Wires short-circuited, sending sparks flying. Malcolm was flung forward against his station, and Hoshi found herself sitting on the floor. Enterprise was speeding through space, leaving the planet behind her. Captain Archer allowed himself a small smile.

"Well done, Trip," he muttered.

Travis turned in his chair. "What course, Captain?"

"Just get us outta here, Ensign. Maximum warp. Lieutenant Reed, what's the distance to the alien vessel?"

Malcolm gave his controls an astonished look. "They're not following us, Captain."

"What?" Archer got to his feet. "They come here because of us, fire at us, and now they're not pursuing us?"

"Indeed," T'Pol said. "They have entered an orbit around the planet."

The comm channel sizzled. "Hess to bridge."

"Archer here. Good job, Lieutenant. Damage report."

"A few ignited plasma conduits and burned-out EPS cables, nothing serious. Life support will be back online in a minute. But Captain..."

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Archer asked, alarmed. He didn't like the young woman's worried tone at all.

"The Commander's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" Archer threw a glance at the bridge crew who were watching him with wide eyes.

"A few seconds after we got free, he was transported right out of here, sir. We couldn't do anything. I'm sorry, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Jon's voice sounded strangely flat as he closed the comm channel. Briefly, he closed his eyes to gather his thoughts.

"They don't need to follow us," he heard Travis say in a resigned tone of voice. "They know we're going to come back."


	10. Chapter 10

Hanging in the aliens' grip, Trip wondered how he'd managed to get himself into such a fix again. It looked like this was the bridge of the alien ship, and if circumstances had been different, Trip would have been very interested in the details of his surroundings. At the moment, however, he was feeling quite small and helpless. Only the aliens' long slender hands, holding him in a firm grip, kept him from collapsing in an undignified heap on the floor, and the way his legs were dragging over the deck made him feel even worse.

What lifted his mood, however, was the image of Enterprise on the large screen in front of him, growing steadily smaller as she moved away. It filled Trip with triumph that they'd managed to pull free from that tractor beam, but at the same time the sight triggered a feeling of abandonment and overwhelming despair within him. Enterprise was able to get away, but he was stuck here, in the hands of those strange beings he practically knew nothing about. He didn't even know what their species called themselves.

"Well, there she goes," Trip said nastily. "Tough luck, huh?" He knew they didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but it still felt good, speaking what was on his mind.

One of the humanoids who was quite tall even for one of their species stepped up in front of him. Trip didn't bother raising his eyes. Looking up would have meant craning his neck to see the alien's face, and Trip wasn't particularly motivated to do so. The alien said something; it wasn't very loud, but the frequency of the sound hurt Trip's ears.

"Sorry, but I have no idea if that was a friendly "welcome" or my death sentence."

The aliens started talking among each other, and Trip wished desperately he would have been able to cover his ears. Finally they ended their conversation, dragging him away. Trip felt his heart thumping. The thin air made his chest close up and he got the distinct impression that it was even colder here on the ship than it had been in that dome of fog down on the surface. His loose pants and t-shirt were definitely not suited to keep the cold away, leaving him shivering in the cool air.

When he saw where they were taking him, Trip's heart sank. It wasn't hard to tell that this was some kind of laboratory. Without any visible sign of effort the aliens lifted him onto a cold metal table and began to tie him down. Broad straps came around his wrists, around his chest and waist, even around his legs.

"You're not quite up-to-date, guys," Trip said testily. "Those legs are long past movin', and thanks to you people it's probably gonna stay that way."

After a short conversation with another humanoid the two aliens who had brought him left the room. The remaining humanoid stepped up beside the table, letting his eyes wander over Trip's body.

"See somethin' green?" Trip grimaced. He knew he was wasting his breath wise-cracking at them, but he couldn't help it. After all, he could get away with anything since his language seemed to be as much of a mystery to these aliens as theirs to him. Trip felt a shiver run through his body when the alien stroked his cheek with those long fingers, but he couldn't tell whether it was from the touch or from the cold.

The humanoid's strange, expressionless facet-like eyes rested on him for another moment. Then the alien raised his head, calling for an assistant who came back carrying some kind of black cloth in his hand. He reached for Trip's head and all of a sudden the engineer realized that they were going to blindfold him. Plain terror took hold of him at the thought of not being able to see, of being left blind and helpless in that terrible place, and Trip resorted to the only resistance he was still able to offer, frantically throwing his head from one side to the other, escaping their long fingers again and again. Finally, though, one of them managed to grab his head, holding it in an iron grip.

"No, please don't," Trip pleaded as the cloth was being placed over his eyes, leaving him in complete darkness. He felt them tighten the knot at the side of his head, then strapping his head down onto the metal table. Panic rose within the young man. He wanted to thrash out, kick at his captors or at least raise his head to see what they were going to do. But he wasn't able to do any of these things. He was utterly immobilized, at the mercy of those strangers who had captured him. The darkness frightened him. Straining his ears, he listened for any sounds that would tell him what was going on, but the only thing he heard was the shrill noise of the aliens talking. His heart was thumping in his chest and his lungs screamed for oxygen. Desperately, Trip fought to get his ragged breathing back under control, trying to calm down.

"What're you gonna do?" he asked hoarsely, even though he knew he was not going to get an answer to his question.

The table began to move. Trip clenched his hands to fists, the only movement he was still able to make. Waves of panic washed over him. It was driving him crazy, not being able to see what they were up to, and he bit his lip to keep himself from screaming. He felt himself being pushed into something, hearing some kind of door slide shut behind him with a low hissing noise. Something began to whirr, sounding like some sort of electric knife. Were they going to cut him open? Trip's whole body tensed up as he waited for the unbearable pain to set his nerves on fire. It didn't come, though. Trip lay there, rigid with fear, but nothing happened. There was still that whirring sound, but no knife made contact with his skin and after several minutes had passed, Trip started to relax a little. Maybe he was inside some kind of scanner.

All of a sudden a sharp light blazed up, so bright it even penetrated the black cloth of the blindfold. Trip moaned in pain when a glaring beam of light seared through his head, seeming to cut right through his brain. The light and the pain it caused lasted only for a few seconds, though, and Trip realized they might have blindfolded him simply to protect his eyes. He felt the beam slowly wandering over his body, but it didn't cause him any more pain.

The scanning seemed to take forever. The cold emitting from the metal table started to creep into his arms and legs, causing goosebumps to ripple over his body. The thin air made him feel dizzy and lightheaded, and for a few disoriented seconds the world seemed to have turned upside-down. It was like falling into a deep abyss, and Trip felt panic close up his throat. Fighting to bring his thoughts back into order again, he told himself that he couldn't possibly be falling. He was strapped to this table, and the table wasn't moving at all.

After what seemed like hours, they finally took Trip out of the scanner again. Trembling, he listened to their voices as they talked among each other. By now he'd gotten so cold it felt like he would never feel warm again. Suddenly he felt a hand touch his head and jumped. What were they going to do to him now? Were they going to torture him? Or inject him with some more of that serum that had paralyzed his legs?

Untying the knot at the side of his head, the hand removed the blindfold. Trip blinked, relieved to be able to see again. His head was still being held down by the strap, though. Trip's breath caught in his throat when he saw a long instrument in the alien's other hand. A scalpel. And it looked awfully sharp. Trip started to struggle, clenching and unclenching his fists in a desperate try to make the straps give way, but of course they wouldn't. Eyes wide with fear, he stared at the scalpel as it approached his chest. He swallowed dryly.

The scalpel made contact with his skin, and Trip held his breath. But he didn't feel any pain. The sharp instrument cut off his t-shirt, then did the same with his pants. The alien managed to remove Trip's entire clothing without loosening one of the straps. His assistant meanwhile busied himself taking off the engineer's shoes and socks. Then they began to examine him.

Trip tried to think of something else as he felt the aliens' cold hands and instruments all over his body. The examination wasn't painful, but Trip found it to be extremely distasteful. The taller being who seemed to be some kind of doctor, unwrapped the bandage around Trip's hand and regarded the deep cut thoughtfully. From the corner of his eyes the engineer saw him taking some sort of cylinder down from a high shelf. Trip bit down hard on his lip when the alien started applying a slimy substance on the back of his hand. It burned like hell, but Trip forced himself not to make a sound. After a few seconds the burning sensation relented, and Trip took a deep breath, licking his cracked lips. His throat felt dry and parched. The doctor studied his face for a moment, then went over to a table, coming back with a cup in his hand. Undoing the strap around Trip's forehead, the alien lifted the engineer's head and held the cup to his lips.

"You think I can drink that?" But Trip didn't have any other choice, the fluid was already being poured into his mouth. It tasted sweet and actually quite good. Trip drank greedily, taking big swallows. When the cup was empty, the alien let go of his head again, reaching out for the strap.

"No, please don't," Trip begged. The humanoid looked at him. "I won't try a thing," Trip promised, resting his head back on the metal table to prove his words. The alien put the strap aside.

"Thanks," Trip groaned. "And how about the rest?"

But they wouldn't free him of the straps, of course not. Even so, Trip was glad he was able to move his head again. Carefully, he turned his head from one side to the other to make the tense muscles in the back of his neck relax. Gingerly raising his head, he saw that the cut in the back of his hand had disappeared. Then, however, he rested his head back on the examination table, closing his eyes. He wasn't so sure he actually wanted to see what they were doing to him. He was nothing but a guinea pig to them, and all he could do was lie there and endure their examination.

When he felt something touch his neck, he opened his eyes again. "Hope you're not plannin' to inject me with the cure serum," Trip muttered. He felt a sting of pain on his neck, then saw the doctor carrying a phial full of blood over to a counter.

"Be my guest."

The sound of his own voice made Trip feel a little more confident. So far the aliens hadn't really hurt him, but he didn't know what was yet to come. The cold was a monster unto itself. By now his whole body was shaking uncontrollably, and if he hadn't been immobilized by the straps, the aliens probably wouldn't have been able to continue with their examination.

Finally they left him alone. Trip didn't know how many hours had passed in the meantime. He'd lost all sense of time. His body felt like one big chunk of ice, and he still felt the touch of the aliens' hands and instruments on his skin.

Trip watched as the aliens slowly filed out of the room. When he'd reached the door, the doctor turned around and regarded Trip for a moment. Then he went over to a cupboard, got out a blanket and spread it carefully over the shivering human.

"Thank you," Trip whispered.

The humanoid looked at him and Trip thought he saw something like regret on the stranger's features.

* * *

 

Captain Jonathan Archer was pacing the ready room, taking long angry strides.

"I need options," he snapped. "We have to get Trip out of there, as soon as possible."

His officers exchanged glances. Of course they, too, weren't willing to leave Trip with these people any longer if it could be helped, but they lacked the possibilities to start a rescue attempt. Enterprise was currently hiding behind one of the moons orbiting the outermost planet of the system, hoping the moon's gas corona would protect them from being detected by the aliens' sensors.

"The repairs aren't fully completed yet," Reed reported. "And even with all our weapons online we're no match for that species' technology. They'd blast us to pieces the second we started approaching their ship."

"Can't we kind of sneak up on them with one of the shuttlepods?"

"Negative, Captain. They would detect us immediately." So far T'Pol had rejected every suggestion that had been made, but hadn't come up with any idea of her own either.

Malcolm had fallen silent again, and as Archer watched the tactical officer's expression change ever so slightly, he felt a small surge of hope rise within him.

Finally Malcolm came out with his idea. "The Suliban cell ship," he said. "The cloaking device should still be functioning. We could approach their docking hatch without them noticing."

"But you cannot cloak yourself," T'Pol said. "Even if you manage to dock on the alien vessel, they will detect you immediately when you enter their ship."

"We'll just need a little luck."

"Our actions should not depend on "luck", Lieutenant." T'Pol's voice sounded icy.

"Can we scan for Trip's bio sign?" Jon asked.

"Not yet, but Ensign Sato is working on it."

"Maybe we can distract them somehow."

"How?"

"I don't know. But we need to think of something soon."

* * *

 

"Did you finish your examination?"

"Yes, Captain," the doctor answered. "It is quite an interesting species. In a way, their physiology is similar to ours, but there are several distinctive differences."

"Is that the reason why the nerve poison our scientists injected him with did not show the expected effects?"

"Affirmative. It did not paralyze his whole body but only the legs. And so far nothing has changed about that."

The Captain stared at the large screen showing an image of the moon hanging below their vessel. "They analyzed our database. I am sure by now they have found the compounds for the cure. Why haven't they helped him yet? Are they not giving him the serum on purpose, perhaps as a way to punish him?"

"No. I found out that our cure would be fatal to his organism."

"So there is no possibility of reversing the paralysis?"

"No, Sir."

"That was never our intention."

"What are we going to do with him now? Do you think his companions will return?"

"Maybe they want to negotiate," another humanoid suggested, stepping up beside the two others.

"We cannot communicate with them."

"That is indeed a problem."

"Are they still within scanning range?" The Captain threw a glance at the crewman sitting at the helm.

"Positive," he confirmed. "They are hiding behind one of the outermost planet's moons. Or believe they are hiding."

"Inform me if they change their position. If they try to escape we need to pursue them. We must still get out technology back. But let us take one step after another. I am curious." The Captain turned back to the doctor. "So it is not possible to inject that outworlder with the cure? What will happen to him now? Are there any other consequences?"

The doctor paused a moment before answering: "He will die."


	11. Chapter 11

Aboard the Suliban cell ship, everybody sat in subdued silence. Archer was quite glad that this particular piece of "spoils" had still been standing in their shuttle hangar. It was the second time already that they were taking advantage of its cloaking abilities.

All the same, this mission was a hopeless venture. The cell ship was simply too small. Right now, six people were crammed into the claustrophobic interior, and where they were supposed to find any space for Trip on their way back remained to be seen.

If that was going to happen, anyway. Jonathan Archer was well aware of just how superior these people were that were awaiting them onboard the alien vessel; a superiority they themselves were no match for. Malcolm and his team were equipped with as much weaponry and firepower as they could carry, but what use would that be?

Jon sighed. There was no other possibility. Eventually, Hoshi had managed to pick up Trip's bio sign, and everyone had been quite relieved when they'd seen that it was strong and distinct. However, for some reason they hadn't been able to fathom they couldn't transport him from the other vessel or beam themselves aboard. T'Pol had suggested that the strangers were using some kind of force field that prevented any energy beams penetrating their ship's hull and that Enterprise's scanners weren't able to pick up. And why is it that we don't have that kind of thing, Jon thought. It was another indication of how superior these aliens really were. How were they supposed to win against people like them?

"Almost there, sir," Travis announced. "The cloaking field's stable. They haven't detected us yet."

"Good. Hail Enterprise and tell them to begin."

Enterprise would leave her hiding place behind that moon, fly back a short distance and let herself be seen by the aliens. It was a lousy decoy tactic, but maybe it would distract the aliens enough so they wouldn't pay too close attention to their internal scanners. Enterprise couldn't take any real actions; actually attacking them was not an option. The Starfleet vessel simply held no chance against the alien ship, and Archer wasn't willing to risk the whole crew. He was just hoping for a little luck.

"Docking now, sir."

"Acknowledged, Ensign. Get ready. Lieutenant Reed, you got Trip on your scanner?"

"Positive, sir." Malcolm was giving instructions to his team, telling them to switch their phaser rifles to stun and handing out smoke grenades. For this mission, Malcolm had done a quick job of developing a few nasty little devices, which would, if necessary, conjure up a whole wall of fog, giving the rescue team a good chance of getting away.

"You're staying here, Travis," Archer told the helmsman. "Don't contact us. If there are any problems, get out of here before these people can take you prisoner."

"Aye sir. Let's hope it won't come to that."

"Alright, let's go. Malcolm, open the hatch."

"Just a second, sir." Malcolm got a folded up emergency blanket out of one of the storage compartments and stuffed it into his pocket. As he saw Archer's questioning look, he grimaced. "It's probably quite cold on that ship. Maybe it'll be of use."

The dimensions of the vessel were gigantic. Archer would have enjoyed taking a closer look at the internal design, but at the moment his only concern was Trip. He shivered. Reed had been right, it was cold in here. And the thin air didn't help either. The whole team was breathing heavily by now, but that didn't lessen their vigilance in any way. Silently, they hurried along the high walls, trying to make no sound as they sneaked down the corridors. Carefully, they peered around every corner, attentively checking their surroundings to all sides. After five minutes, they hadn't met any of the alien beings yet. Could it be possible that they should be that lucky? Malcolm checked his scanner, tightening his grip around his rifle. Trip was still quite a distance away, but as it seemed he was being held on the same level as where they were. Malcolm thanked heaven for this little piece of luck. He'd seen the ladders that led to the other levels. The space between the rungs was at least a seventy centimeters. Everything was hugely dimensioned over here. The strangers seemed to be quite careless, though. Lousy security measures, Malcolm thought by himself. It couldn't be that a team of five people could just walk in here and move through the ship without being detected. That was simply too much luck.

* * *

 

"What is the ship doing?" The tall humanoid was standing in front of the screen, watching Enterprise.

"Nothing. They seem to be considering what to do next."

"And that is why they left their hiding? That is strange. Power up the weapons."

"Attacking us would not be very sensible of them, would it?"

"We do not know what they consider sensible and what not. We should be prepared for all possibilities."

"Sir! A shuttle has latched to our docking hatch."

"How could that happen?" The Captain checked his controls.

"It is a cloaked vessel."

"I thought this species was not in the possession of cloaking technology."

"That is correct. The shuttle was clearly not built by this species."

"So they have raided other people as well." The tall figure nodded thoughtfully.

"We already knew that they were dishonorable marauders."

"That impression seems to have been reinforced," the Captain admitted. "All the same, they have not just left their companion behind but are coming back to get him."

"We do not know that for sure, Captain. Maybe they are out to steal more technology."

"It would not be worth the risk. But we will see. What are they doing now?"

"They are making their way through the ship."

"Where are they heading?"

"The laboratories. Your orders?"

"Leave them be for the moment. If they only want to get their crewmate, they can have him. We do not need him anymore, after all. Call Security, but tell them to keep out of sight. I do not want to provoke a fight as long as they are behaving peacefully. If they want to assimilate only the tiniest bit of technology, though, we will take them prisoner."

"Aye sir."

* * *

 

Malcolm's nerves were on edge, adrenaline cursing through his veins, making him overly jumpy. This was going way too smoothly. It just wasn't possible that they should be able to get so close to Trip without being discovered. The ship seemed to be dead silent. Malcolm jerked his rifle up as he saw a shadow flitting along the wall, but there was nothing. Raising a hand, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. Despite the cold, he was perspiring. "We're there, Captain," he whispered over his shoulder. "I'm picking up Trip's bio sign right behind that door."

"Is he alone?"

"It appears so, Captain." Malcolm regarded the bulkhead.

"How're we supposed to get in?" one of his team, Ensign Hanks, asked. "Can you see an opening mechanism of some sort?"

"Indeed, Ensign, I can see one." Despite his tension, Malcolm couldn't suppress a grim smile as he stood on the tips of his toes, touching the rough patch he could make out quite clearly on the door's otherwise smooth surface. With a low humming sound, the bulkhead slid aside, and immediately Malcolm and the three security people secured the door while Archer quickly entered the room.

"Trip. Are you okay?" His friend was lying on a long table, covered by a blanket, his eyes closed. As Archer came nearer, they flew open.

"Jon." Archer could see surprise and relief on Trip's face. "I thought they were comin' back."

"We're gonna get you out of here, Trip. Did they hurt you?"

"Not really. Untie me, okay?"

The table's top was on about the same level as Archer's shoulders. The Captain pulled the blanket aside, pressing his lips together as he saw how tightly the restraints were fastened around Trip's body. Despite the blanket, his skin felt ice cold under Archer's fingers.

"Lieutenant," the Captain whispered as he reached up to untie the straps. Malcolm was already standing beside him, though, unfolding the thermal blanket. His eyes clouded up with fury as they fell on Trip's shivering, naked body. Together they lifted the Engineer off the table, wrapping him in the blanket.

"Give me a hand, Malcolm." Bending down, Jon picked up Trip.

"You can't carry me," Trip protested through chattering teeth. "I'm too heavy."

"That's alright, Trip, don't worry." Breathing heavily, with Malcolm's help Archer got to his feet. Gently, he pulled Trip closer to his chest so as not to drop him. "Let's get outta here."

Malcolm and Hanks took the lead, the other two security guards brought up the rear end. Malcolm was sure that they were being watched, but he couldn't make out any cameras or similar devices. That didn't mean a thing, though, since they still didn't know enough about the aliens' technology to identify a control mechanism when they saw one. By now, Malcolm had come to the conclusion that the aliens were letting them escape. There was no other explanation. But this assumption didn't diminish his watchfulness for one second. Maybe the alien troops were waiting at the docking hatch. It didn't make any sense, really, but it was a possibility. Every muscle in his body was tensed up and alert, and he knew that his team were paying just as much attention as he was. Malcolm threw a glance over his shoulder, looking back at Archer. The Captain was panting, and Reed knew exactly how he felt, having to carry Trip while breathing the thin air of this alien atmosphere. Now they only had to get back to the docking hatch, and Malcolm prayed that everything would go smoothly from here.

A few minutes later, they'd reached the cell ship. They got in, everybody sitting down on their accustomed places. After a moment's consideration, Jon and Malcolm simply got Trip settled across their knees.

"Get us out of here, Ensign," Archer told Travis. "As fast as you can."

Travis didn't wait for Archer to repeat the order. He unlocked the docking clamps, turned the small ship in a graceful arc and maneuvered it back to Enterprise.

* * *

 

"They did not even look at any technology, sir," said the humanoid who'd been watching the scanners' displays. "It seems like their only interest was to retrieve their crewman. What are your orders, sir?"

"Let them escape and withdraw our teams."

"Aye sir. How do you plan to proceed further?"

The Captain threw a thoughtful glance at the screen. Enterprise was still motionlessly hanging in space, seemingly waiting for something to happen. "We will let them get away."

"Sir?"

"Let them get away. Give them a head start until we are out of their scanning range. Then we will get our cloaking online and follow them. I get the impression that this species might be less aggressive than we initially assumed. Let them think they were able to escape us. As soon as their alertness ceases, we might be able to delete our technology from their data base without having to fight them."

"As you wish, sir."

"Tell the doctor I am on my way. I want to see all the data he has gathered about these strangers."

* * *

 

Phlox was already waiting for them in the shuttle hangar to be able to get Trip to sickbay as fast as possible. T'Pol was there as well. Archer felt the engines' vibration as Enterprise went to warp speed. Relieved, he leaned back against the cell ship. T'Pol opened a comm link to the bridge and asked for a status report.

"We have gone to warp 4.8, " Hoshi's voice was to be heard. "The alien vessel does not seem to be following. There is no sign of them breaking orbit."

"This went way too smoothly," Malcolm said while climbing out of the cell ship as well. "Something doesn't smell right to me about this whole business."

Archer smiled. "I'm just glad that it did go smoothly, and that we were able to get Trip back."

"So am I, Captain, but still it's completely illogical. First, there was that tractor beam, keeping us from getting away, then that huge ship arrived, equipped with superior weaponry, but they left it at a few feeble blows, even though they could have blasted us to tiny little pieces if they'd wanted to. But they let us escape, only transported Trip to their vessel, and now we could retrieve the Commander without meeting with any resistance. With all due respect, sir, but there's definitely something fishy about the whole bloody thing."

"Apart from his last statement, I agree with what Lieutenant Reed says," T'Pol stated. "The aliens' behavior is highly illogical."

"Maybe they got some kind of malfunction that keeps them from pursuing us. Maybe they really didn't notice us. I don't think it's very logical, either, but it's possible. T'Pol, you have the bridge. Malcolm, you and your team can take a short break. You did a good job over there. If someone wants me, I'm in sickbay."

"Sir?" Malcolm gave Archer a beseeching look.

"Very well. You can come with me, Lieutenant."

* * *

 

Trip was lying on one of the biobeds, apparently fast asleep. His face was pale, and he was still shivering. Phlox was just tucking another blanket around him when the two men entered sickbay.

"Doc? How is he?"

Phlox turned around to face Jon and Malcolm, a smile displaying on his features. "Ah. I was wondering when the both of you were going to show up here. Congratulations on the successful completion of the mission, Captain. Physically, the Commander's condition isn't bad; he's suffering from hypothermia, but that can be treated. The emotional strain was more severe that the physical."

"What do you mean?" Archer asked, frowning.

"I can imagine, Captain," Malcolm said, his eyes resting on Trip, anger clear in his voice. "Think of how they'd strapped him to that table. He was at these people's mercy, and he knew what they were capable of doing. He must've been scared to death."

"Was he hurt, doc?"

Phlox tilted his head to one side. "No, not really," he said then. "But he was examined very thoroughly."

"Thoroughly?"

"I'll leave it to you, Captain, to imagine what one can do to get to know as much as possible about the metabolism and body functions of an alien species."

Malcolm swallowed. His throat felt dry as he thought about the doctor's words.

"But the Commander will recover," Phlox continued. "It is reassuring to know that he wasn't injected with any more substances, and that he endured this examination without taking any lasting damage. Mr. Tucker will be sleeping for a while. If you want me to, I'll contact you as soon as the sedative I gave him begins to taper off."

"Thanks, doc, I appreciate it." Jon patted Malcolm on the shoulder. "And you go and take your break now, Lieutenant."

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to stay here for a while." Malcolm felt such a relief at the fact that they'd gotten Trip back more or less sound and safely that he couldn't bring himself to leave him alone now. Who knew what else was going to happen to him? The tension hadn't fully left the Armory Officer yet. He knew Enterprise wasn't safe, was well aware of the superior speed and firepower of the other vessel. And if these mysterious strangers once more decided to kidnap Trip, he, Malcolm Reed, would be there to prevent it.


	12. Chapter 12

Things went back to normal aboard Enterprise. No one had really believed they would be able to escape the aliens, least of all Malcolm who'd maintained alert conditions ever since they'd pulled free from the tractor beam. By now, however, Enterprise was several light-years away from the solar system where they'd confronted the alien vessel, and it was quite unlikely that the strangers would be able to track them down in the depths of deep space. After three days had passed without anything unexpected happening, even Malcolm began to relax a little, and didn't argue when Archer gave the order to call off alert conditions. Even though he couldn't quite believe it, by now he'd accepted the fact that either the aliens had had no interest in pursuing them, or for some reason hadn't been able to do so. Nevertheless T'Pol kept a watchful eye on her sensors in order to avoid any unpleasant surprises.

* * *

 

Trip had recovered quite nicely. The nightmares in which he was strapped on this metal table again and still could feel the alien's hands and instruments on his skin slowly vanished. Even so, he didn't talk to anyone about what had happened on that alien vessel, not even to Jon and Malcolm. But they both knew what he'd gone through, and tried hard to reintegrate Trip into everyday life on Enterprise, keeping him busy so he wouldn't have too much time to brood on recent events. At daytime, he was doing quite good, too. By now, Trip had learned to handle the wheelchair so well he didn't need any more help with his everyday chores.

His work, however, was a different story. Being down in Engineering was becoming increasingly frustrating for him, having to watch as his staff did all the work, climbing around between the upper and lower level, using the stepladders which had become inaccessible to Trip. Of course Trip was still in command, giving the crew orders what to do and how to do it. But he couldn't help them do the work, and it was nothing short of torture, being reduced to sitting around and watching. He had to change something about that, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Still, somehow the days passed, and Trip thought he was actually doing quite good, coping with the situation. The crew still included him in everyday life on Enterprise, and no one seemed to mind that Trip was now sitting in a wheelchair. He was able to move about quite freely in Enterprise's corridors, even though the ship's designers of course hadn't gone to the trouble of making her suitable for disabled persons. But Trip was getting more and more skilled in dealing with the daily adversities of his handicap. Every evening either Jon or Malcolm would drop by to help him with the exercises Phlox had prescribed to keep his muscles supple, and from time to time Hoshi would come by afterwards to give him a massage. Trip couldn't complain about not getting enough attention, and he still felt fully accepted by the crew.

Still, he lay awake every night, feeling depression weighing down on him like a dark heavy blanket. All of this was only temporary, and he knew it. He was no longer able to do his job as Chief Engineer, no matter what Jon said. The time would come when Starfleet would have him replaced, and he would have to go back to Earth. But back home there wasn't much of a future for a handicapped engineer, either. Trip had no idea what he was going to do, and it was getting him down. He knew he could get used to that wheelchair, and by now he had even come to terms with the idea of having to use it for the rest of his life. And he was sure he would be able to do that. The problem was, Trip had no idea what he was going to do with such a life.

* * *

 

A week after they'd left the solar system where they'd met the aliens, Trip woke up in the morning to find that he had problems sitting up in bed. He felt strangely weak, but it took him quite a while to determine the source of his discomfort. He could no longer tense the muscles in his abdomen. Dismayed, Trip tried to draw in his stomach, but it wouldn't work. His stomach rose and fell with every breath he took, but he could no longer make any intentional movement. He took some of the skin around his navel between his fingers, pinching it hard.

"Ouch." It hurt. Everything seemed perfectly normal, except for the fact that his muscles would no longer respond to his brain. What the hell was wrong with him? Well, never mind; he would simply have to try and do without the muscles in his stomach today. In a few minutes he was having breakfast with Malcolm, and there was no way he was going to tell the Lieutenant about this new difficulty. He'd been enough trouble lately, and didn't want to be more of a burden to his friends than absolutely necessary. Maybe the symptoms were harmless, after all. Maybe he'd simply put too much strain on his muscles, doing his exercises yesterday. Shutting these thoughts out of his mind, Trip awkwardly pushed his legs over the edge of the bed, groping for his clothes.

* * *

 

Malcolm had the distinct impression that there was something wrong with Trip. The engineer moved with exaggerated caution, sometimes swaying in his wheelchair as if he were having trouble keeping his balance. Malcolm's suspicion was being confirmed in the evening of that day, when they were in the gym doing Trip's exercises.

"Come on, Trip. Sit up." Holding Trip's wrists in a firm grip, Malcolm was kneeling in front of the engineer who was lying on his back, trying to pull himself in a sitting position. Trip had had no trouble with this particular exercise in the last few days, but tonight the Commander seemed to lack the strength to do it properly.

"Now, what's wrong?" Malcolm said teasingly, patting Trip on the stomach. "Too much pasta in there, huh? Come on, use your muscles. Don't be such a slouch!"

But Trip couldn't do it. He only managed to pull himself up a few centimeters, then plopped back down on the mat, panting heavily.

"Won't work," he said, gasping for air. "Let's try somethin' else, okay?"

"Alright." Malcolm tried not to let any of his worry show. Up until now, Trip had done really good, so maybe a small relapse was only to be expected.

"Will Hoshi drop by your quarters later?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yup."

"Sometimes I really envy you. I'd sure like to get a massage from Hoshi once in a while."

"We can swap places anytime." Trip grinned at him. "But you get not just the massages, but also the whole blasted rest."

"I don't think so, Commander." Smiling, Malcolm lifted Trip's leg off the mattress so the engineer could fold his hands behind the knee.

"Try pulling it towards you, Trip. Come on, a little harder. Is that all you can do? I have to say, I'm quite disappointed. You used to do quite good at these exercises."

Panting, Trip let go of his knee, dropping the leg on the mat. He had to change the subject, make Malcolm forget about his condition.

"I'm sure Hoshi would be happy to give you a massage," he said. "Why don't you just ask her?"

"I can't just go and ask Hoshi if she'd give me a massage. She'd clock me one and laugh in my face!" Malcolm took Trip's other leg. "Let's try another one of these exercises, Commander."

"Want me to ask her?" Trip folded his hands around his knee, an evil smile spreading on his face.

"Don't you dare! I don't need anyone organizing my dates. You'd better concentrate on these exercises of yours, you're doing quite a poor job of them tonight!"

Malcolm looked down at his friend and, noticing a strange expression on Trip's face, he felt his worry grow.

* * *

 

When Trip woke up the next morning, it had gotten even worse. Secretly he'd been hoping that strange weakness would disappear over night, but now he found he could hardly prop himself up on his elbows anymore. Some time ago Malcolm had put a bar over his bed he could use to pull himself into a sitting position, but when Trip tried to reach out for it, he noticed in dismay that he wasn't able to raise his arms beyond shoulder level, and could hold them up for only a few seconds before they dropped back onto the bed like dead weights. How was he going to get out of bed like that, let alone dress himself? Again, Trip tried to sit up, but to no avail. There was no way around it, he had to wait for someone to come and help him.

"Reed to Tucker. Trip, what's up? I'm waiting!"

When Trip heard Malcolm's voice come from the small speaker on the wall, he sighed in relief, hoping it wouldn't take Reed too long to come looking for him.

Five minutes later the doorsignal chimed. Trip quickly closed his eyes when Malcolm entered.

"Hey, Trip, why are you still in bed? Do you know what time it is?"

Opening his eyes, Trip feigned sleepy surprise. "Dammit! I overslept! Doggone it. Could you help me get out of bed?"

Malcolm gave Trip an astonished look. Usually the engineer insisted on doing everything himself, and it had been quite some time since he'd last asked anyone for help.

"Take your time, Trip," he tried to reassure his friend.

"I don't wanna be late for the briefin'."

"I'm sure the Captain won't mind if you're a little late."

"But I mind. I'm not gonna let it become a habit. Are you gonna help me or not?"

Malcolm was worried. Helping Trip out of bed, he had to support him almost as much as in the beginning when Trip hadn't yet learned how to handle the wheelchair. It just wasn't like the engineer to resort to other people's help when he didn't need it. But he did seem to need it, though. Trip seemed to be overly tired and clumsy this morning, having trouble coordinating his movements. When Malcolm tried to ask him about it, though, Trip only waved him off.

"I'm jus' a little tired, Malcolm. Don't worry, I jus' need a good cup of coffee, and I'll be feelin' fine."

"You ought to shave before we go."

"Don't have the time."

"You didn't shave yesterday either." Malcolm glanced at Trip's dark, stubbly chin.

"No, I'll do it when the briefing's over."

Thinking of the briefing that started in a few minutes, Trip hoped none of his fellow officers would notice that he had problems coordinating his movements. When the briefing was over, he could escape to his desk in Engineering and pass the time until lunch without anyone realizing what was happening to him. And then? Trip knew he couldn't hide his difficulties forever. But he didn't want to go to sickbay yet again. There was nothing Phlox could do, anyway, and Trip was getting a little tired of the doctor's regretful expression when he told him that he couldn't help him.

* * *

 

They arrived in the ready room just in time. Trip had allowed Malcolm to push the wheelchair most of the way. He felt the Lieutenant's unspoken concern and knew that Malcolm was aware that something was wrong. But Trip was still able to hide his difficulties quite well.

When Malcolm pushed him over to his place at the table, T'Pol gave him a cool look.

"I know the Captain allowed you to wear civilian clothes, Commander," she said reproachfully. "But there are certain regulations concerning an officer's appearance. Your present appearance is not appropriate for a senior officer on duty."

Trip ran his left hand over his stubbly cheek. "I'm sorry, sir," he said to the Captain. "I overslept and didn't have the time to shave. I'll do it as soon as the briefing's over."

"Alright, Trip. Don't make it a habit, though, okay?" Archer turned to T'Pol. "Anything new about that database?"

"Due to Ensign Sato's and Commander Tucker's efforts we have now unlimited access to the aliens' knowledge. Their technology is of course very advanced, but it is possible to integrate it at least partially into Enterprise's systems."

"That would be an enormous progress."

"Indeed. Maybe later this afternoon Commander Tucker can help me outline our possibilities of integrating the cloaking system."

"Commander?" Archer gave Trip a pointed look.

"What?" Trip startled. "Yeah, sure, Subcommander. Jus' let me know when you've got a minute."

His colleagues raised their eyebrows at that. It wasn't like Trip to let his thoughts wander during a briefing, especially not when the topic was new technology. Trip noticed the slight frown on Jon's face, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care whether the Captain might be angry with him or not. Trip had just realized that he could no longer close the fingers of his right hand.

* * *

 

Lieutenant Hess had taken him with her to messhall. Now Trip sat at the table together with Hoshi, Travis and Malcolm, desperately trying to hold on to his knife. By now, his right hand would hardly respond at all anymore, and the left one was rapidly getting worse, as well. Malcolm had raised his eyebrows when he'd noticed Trip's still unshaven face, but to Trip's relief he had said nothing. Trip focussed his attention on Hoshi and Travis teasing each other, trying to distract himself. Suddenly, though, there was a loud clatter when the knife slipped from his fingers, landing on the floor next to the table. Trip's arm crashed painfully onto the table, he swayed and would have fallen out of his wheelchair if Travis hadn't grabbed his arm a second before he lost his balance.

Calmly, Malcolm picked up the knife, wiped it on a napkin and put it back onto the table next to Trip's plate.

"What. Is. Wrong. Commander?" he asked, stressing every single word. Trip stared at his hand which had fallen onto the table and wouldn't move at all anymore. He could no longer hide what was happening.

"The paralysis is spreadin'," he admitted quietly. "I can move fewer and fewer parts of my body as it progresses."

Hoshi clapped a hand in front of her mouth, staring at him in dismay. Her expression was mirrored by Travis and Malcolm, who stared at him as well.

"You didn't oversleep this morning," Malcolm said bluntly. "You couldn't get out of bed. You were just putting on a show. So we wouldn't notice that there was something wrong with you. How long has this been going on?"

"Since yesterday morning."

"And when did you plan on telling us about it, Commander?" A testy undertone crept into Malcolm's voice.

"You'd have only dragged me off to sickbay if I'd told you."

"Yes I would. And that's exactly what I'm going to do now."

"Wait a minute, Lieutenant." Hoshi seemed to have recovered from her shock. "I think we should let the Commander finish his meal, at least. Who knows when he'll next have a chance to eat when Phlox gets hold of him."

"Hoshi, I can't..." Trip's voice broke.

Getting up, Hoshi shooed Travis out of his seat and sat down next to Trip. She took his fork, spearing a piece of meat and holding it up in front of his mouth. "There you go, Commander."

Trip shook his head. "No, Hoshi, not in front of the crew."

"They won't notice. And even if they do who cares? This ship is like one big family, Commander. And sooner or later everyone knows when there's something wrong with you. Now, don't be silly!"

Trip shrugged, opening his mouth. After skipping breakfast he was just plain hungry. And so he resigned to his fate, allowing Hoshi to feed him while Travis stood behind him, steadying his shoulders. That way, Trip at least didn't have to fight for balance while he ate his lunch.

* * *

 

Jonathan Archer opened the sickbay doors. It seemed to become quite the habit these days, and he hated it.

"Doc? How is he?" How many times had he asked that questions during the last two weeks?

"Not good, I'm afraid," Phlox answered. "The paralysis is slowly taking possession of the Commander's whole body. He is still able to raise his left arm a little, but I'm afraid in a few hours he won't be able to do that anymore, either. And if the paralysis progresses at this rate, then in all likelihood the Commander will no longer be able to move his head by tomorrow morning."

Jon only stared at the doctor.

"And to answer your next question, Captain, no, I don't have any options left."

"Is that condition reversible? Maybe the paralysis will regress as quickly as it came."

"That is most unlikely."

"Doc! You're not saying Trip will be completely paralyzed! That he won't even be able to turn his head!"

"I'm afraid that is the case."

"This is unacceptable."

"I agree, Captain. And I'll keep looking for a cure, but I have to inform you that the odds of finding one are minimal."

"How does he take it?"

"I don't know. He won't talk about his feelings."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course, Captain. You know your way around."

* * *

 

"Hey, Cap'n." Trip reached out with his left hand. Jon took it and squeezed it, while hooking his foot around the leg of a nearby chair, drawing it up to the bed.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Jon swallowed. "What would you be sorry for, Trip?"

"I still didn't shave."

Jon laughed despite himself. Somehow, though, the sound of his own laughter made him feel even worse. "You should have told us, Trip."

"And miss T'Pol give me a dressing-down for not bein' appropriately groomed? Never."

For a while they sat in silence. Then Trip spoke up again. "You were right, Jon."

"What do you mean?"

"That wheelchair really wasn't the end of the road."

"That's not what I meant." Jon's voice broke as he tried to hold back the tears.

"I know." Trip nodded. "But you have to admit there's a certain irony to it. I really hated that wheelchair. I didn't want to use it, and now I'd be glad if I was able to sit in it again."

"Maybe we could..."

"No, Jon," Trip interrupted, shaking his head. "You'd need to tie me in there like a lifeless doll. I don't want that."

Jon nodded. Trip's words cut through his very soul. It was nothing short of cruel, having to lie on that bed and wait for the paralysis to take possession of his body until he was no longer able to move at all.

"Would you mind leavin' now, Jon," Trip said quietly. "I need some time to think."

"Sure, Trip." Jon got up, reluctantly, but still glad that he was able to escape this for a while. "I'll come back later and check on you."

Raising his left hand, Trip waved him goodbye, and Jon knew with painful certainty that this was the last movement he'd ever see of his friend.


	13. Chapter 13

"Call the Vulcans, Jon." Trip was looking in his direction, a smile playing about his lips. Jon wondered how his friend found the strength to still be smiling in this situation.

"I'm not going to do that, Trip."

"Soon you won't have much of a choice anymore, Jon." Trip was lying completely motionless, not a single muscle moving in his body. Jon took Trip's left hand, the one that had responded to his slight squeeze only a few hours ago. Now it was lying limply in his own hand.

"I'm not ready to give up, Trip. And you shouldn't be, either."

Trip looked at him for a moment, then grimaced slightly.

"What is it, Trip?"

"My back's itchin'. These biobeds aren't exactly comfortable."

"I know." Jon wished he were able to help Trip in some way. Getting up, he looked around for Phlox.

"Is it really necessary that Trip stays here in sickbay all the time?" he asked him when he found him at his computers.

"I'd like to keep Commander Tucker under observation," the doctor said firmly.

"But you can't do anything for him."

"Unfortunately, that is correct. All the same I am not willing to release Mr. Tucker to his quarters. It would be irresponsible to leave him alone in his current condition."

"Of course. But I could take him with me to my quarters. He doesn't say it, but I'm sure he's sick to death of this place."

Phlox pursed his lips. "If you will take care of him, Captain, then I have no objections. I will tell a med team to take him to your quarters later on."

"That won't be necessary, doc. I can take him with me right away." Jon was already turning around when he paused. "Can I move him, doc? I mean, without hurting him?"

"As long as you don't bend his joints in the wrong direction, there won't be any problems, Captain. Besides, the Commander's sensual nerves are still functioning properly, so if you hurt him, you will notice."

"Thanks doc. That's quite reassuring to know." Jon sighed deeply.

* * *

 

"Hey, buddy, what do you think of a quiet evening with your Captain?"

Trip raised his eyebrows. "Define quiet evenin'."

"Having some supper, talking, maybe watching the new water polo match Forrest sent me. And if you behave yourself, maybe I'll let you stay overnight."

"Sounds good." Trip smiled sadly. "Jus' watch out the crew don't get wind of this."

"That'll stay our secret." Jon smiled as well, but as he picked up his friend's limp body, he had to blink away a tear. Trip didn't need to how he felt at the moment.

* * *

 

Trip was no light burden, but the biggest problem surfaced as they arrived at the door of the Captain's quarters. Jon had no idea how to punch in his door code without dropping his friend.

"You didn't plan this mission right, Cap'n," Trip teased. "Wouldn't have happened to Malcolm, he'd have placed one of his guards here half an hour in advance to have someone to open the door for him." The grin disappeared from his face. "I'm not fragile or anythin', Jon. I won't break if you just put me down."

Sighing, Jon let Trip's legs slide to the floor and quickly punched in his door code before his other hand lost its grip on Trip's upper body. As they entered the room, Porthos came bounding towards them, barking happily and jumping up at Archer's legs.

"Not now, old boy," said Jon, carefully letting Trip down onto the bed.

"Who'd've thought I'd end up in the Cap'n's bed one day," Trip quipped sardonically. Jon looked at him, patting Porthos on the head. "What is it, Cap'n?"

"Facing this situation... how can you be joking all the time? I think I'd be losing my mind."

Trip chuckled. "Who says I'm not? It just doesn't show."

"This can't be what you're actually feeling, Trip. I'm not buying that. I mean, since yesterday, one part of your body after another started refusing to obey you, and you couldn't do anything but wait for it to happen. Dammit, Trip, you can't move a single finger and you're acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world."

Trip was silent for a moment, biting his lip. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Jon patiently waited for him to begin talking. Finally, Trip looked up at him. "You know, when we came back from that moon and Phlox told me he couldn't do anythin' to help me, I thought my life had come to an end. And it was even worse when it became clear that the cure wouldn't work. I did come close to losin' it." Trip snorted. "My God, I was lyin' in that Jeffries Tube, bawlin' like a baby. But every time when I tried to quarrel with my fate, when I screamed at it why somethin' like this was happenin' to me of all people, it got me once more. I've been goin' through so many emotions these last few weeks, I just can't keep this up. I'm past it. Hope. Disappointment. I've scooped the last bit of these feelings outta myself, there's nothin' left. I don't know what's gonna happen next, it's as if I was standin' next to myself, as if I was watchin' all of this happen to somebody else. It happened so fast, my mind still has to catch up with what's goin' on. It's all closin' in on me, and I can't do anythin' but accept it. So I think I have to at least keep the one thing that's left to me. Optimism and a little black humor. There's one good thing about it: I won't have to worry how to get outta bed, and I won't have to worry about shavin' before I attend a briefin'. I won't have to worry about anythin'."

Trip's voice faltered, and a single tear ran down his temple towards his ear. Gently, Jon wiped it away. Trip looked up at him. "I won't say I'm feelin' good, Jon, but I can take it somehow. At the moment. Might very well be possible that in an hour I'm annoyin' hell outta you with my constant whinin'. But you know, even worse than bein' a picture of misery is bein' a cryin' picture of misery. I don't wanna do that to you."

"I wouldn't mind, Trip," Jon said quietly. "If you feel like crying, then cry. That's what friends are for."

"You're almost cryin' yourself, Jon. D'you think I'm not seein' that? I know how you're feelin', and that's alright, too."

Jon smiled and patted Trip's shoulder.

"You're gonna manage a few minutes without me? I'll get a few things from your quarters."

"That's alright, I'm not goin' anywhere. Porthos is keepin' an eye on me."

* * *

 

As Jon came back to his quarters, Porthos was lying on the bed next to Trip, the dog's muzzle resting on his hand. Looking at them made Jon feel like crying again, and he quickly ran a hand over his eyes.

"I got a few clean clothes from your quarters," he said.

"You don't have to do that. I can sleep in this stuff just as well."

How the hell did Trip know exactly what he was thinking? It would be a quite awkward task to change Trip, and Jon felt uncomfortable at the thought, but he had started this, and he was going to do everything to make his friend feel comfortable. "Is it okay with you to let me help you?"

"Is it okay with you to help me?"

Jon nodded, smiling sadly. "I'll do it, I just don't know how to." Jon put Porthos down on the floor and sat down next to Trip, pushing up his friend's t-shirt. "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"Didn't you listen to Phlox? Just don't bend my joints in the wrong direction."

"You heard us?" Jon managed to get Trip's arms out of the shirt's sleeves.

"It was kinda hard not to listen. Maybe I should have put my hands over my ears."

"I don't know if I like your jokes, Trip." Jon pulled the shirt over Trip's head and put it aside. "Well, let's get you ready."

* * *

 

Jon washed and changed Trip, then called messhall for some supper. As he saw that Chef had prepared his favorite dish, Trip raised his eyebrows.

"Why ever do I get the feelin' that'll be my final binge?" he muttered.

"That's nonsense, Trip," Jon said, smiling. "Chef only wanted to do something nice for you. Now come on, open your mouth."

"I already heard that today. Is that in your job description, Cap'n? Washin' and feedin' your second officer?"

"No, that's in the description of my duties as a friend."

"And how long do you think you'll be able to keep this up?"

"As long as it's necessary." With his fork, Jon stabbed a piece of catfish and put it into Trip's mouth.

"You're a starship cap'n, Jon," Trip said calmly. "You can't take care of me on a regular basis. Starfleet's quickly gonna put a stop to that."

"Starfleet can't tell me what I'm doing in my spare time. I'll be damned if I let you lie there in sickbay all the time. And I'm sure there are other people on Enterprise who feel the same way. You got lots of friends here, Trip."

"Yes, and I'm grateful for that, really I am. But in this condition I can't stay here, and sooner or later you're gonna realize that, too. You can't stand up against Starfleet forever. And Starfleet don't care about friendship, they care about what I can do aboard this ship. And at the moment all I'm doin' is bein' in the way and bein' a burden to all of you." Trip looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Maybe the Vulcans can put me in stasis when they're comin' to pick me up. It's one thing bein' dependent on my friends, but on the Vulcans..." Trip trailed off, swallowing.

"If it comes to that, we're going to take you home with Enterprise, Trip." Jon knew that there was no use in keeping telling Trip he wouldn't let it come to that. Jon had to follow the orders of Starfleet Command, and he was aware of the fact that by now he was fighting a lost battle. Forrest had agreed to let Trip stay onboard Enterprise, but that had been a week before now. Since then a lot had changed. Both of them knew that a completely paralyzed man couldn't stay aboard a starship, even if he happened to be the best friend of the Captain's. But Jon wouldn't hand Trip over to the Vulcans. That was out of the question. He wouldn't do it, even if Forrest demoted him to crewman second class. "The Vulcans are not an option," he said reassuringly.

His friend nodded. "I appreciate that, Jon."

Archer put a glass of ice tea to Trip's lips, then wiped his mouth and put aside the plates. "What about watching that water polo game?" he suggested.

"Later, Jon. We need to talk. Could you turn me on my side?"

"Sure. Do you want me to ask Hoshi if she'll massage your back?"

"No," Trip said, smiling at the thought of the young woman. "I need to tell you somethin'."

"I'm listening."

Trip paused for a moment. Porthos jumped back onto the bed, trying to lick Trip's face, and Jon pulled him back. "Come on, stop it. Lie down." Jon took one of Trip's hands and put it onto Porthos' side. Trip blinked.

"Cap'n, if the poison's gonna progress even further..."

"There's nothing much left it can still do to you," Jon said bitterly.

"That's not true, Jon, and you know it."

Jon thought of Phlox saying it probably wouldn't be long until Trip wouldn't be able to move his head anymore, but that wasn't what his friend was referring to.

"You know what might happen next." Trip's voice was absolutely calm.

"Phlox didn't say anything," Jon said, pretending he didn't know what Trip was talking about.

"He doesn't have to. Jon, if it becomes clear that my respiratory system's gonna be affected..."

"Don't say that, Trip."

"We need to talk about this, Cap'n. Even if it's only a what if. I don't want Phlox to hook me up to any machines."

Jon flinched. The image of Trip hooked up to a resuscitation tube was horrible, but what Trip was saying was even worse.

"You're not asking me to stand by and watch you suffocate." Archer's voice sounded hoarse.

Trip bit his lip. "Jon, my life's over. Look at me. What could it still give me? Lyin' motionless the whole time and bein' a burden to everyone around me? You know I can't do that. Not in the long run. Not for the rest of my life. I can't ask you to actually help me committin' suicide, and I won't do it, either, but I can ask you to simply let me go. With the last bit of dignity that's left to me. Please, Jon, don't let Phlox shove a tube in my throat and keep me alive by force."

"You don't know what you're asking of me."

"I do, Jon, I know what I'm askin'. I know, because it would be just as bad for me if it were you lyin' there. It would be one thing if I were in a coma, with a slight chance of wakin' up, but like this, fully conscious and without hope of improvement... you can't do that to me, Jon. Not if you're my friend."

"I _am_ your friend." Jon swallowed. "But... you can't simply wait for suffocation."

"Maybe Phlox can give me a sedative, so I won't be around when the end's comin'. I'm sorry, Cap'n, I'm sorry for doin' this to you, but I'm doin' it to all of my friends. But it'll be for the best, for me, for you and for my family. You're gonna talk to my parents, okay? Tell them I love them."

"You can tell them yourself, Trip. All of this is only hypothetical. It's not certain that the poison's going to affect your respiratory tract."

"With my luck it is."

"No, Trip, don't make yourself think that." Jon paused. "Or maybe that's what you want?"

"I don't know, Jon. I don't wanna die, but I can't live like this, either. I think we'll have to leave it to fate what's gonna happen to me. But if bad comes to worse, then please... just let me go."

"I don't want to lose you, Trip." Jon didn't try to keep the tears at bay anymore, they were running down his cheeks as he gently picked Trip up and pulled him into a hug. Trip's hand slid off Porthos' back, and the dog, almost getting caught between the two men, gave a small bark. "It's your decision, Trip, and I'll respect it," Jon whispered, anguish in his voice. "If it comes to that. I'll talk to Phlox tomorrow."

Trip rested his head on Jon's shoulder and looked up in his friends face which was wet with tears. "Thank you, Jon. I appreciate it."

* * *

 

Jonathan Archer was sitting on the couch in his quarters, watching Trip who'd finally fallen asleep. Porthos was again lying beside him and hadn't moved a single time since Jon had once more put Trip's hand on the dog's back. It seemed as if Porthos was aware of the fact that the touch was important to Trip, and that the hand would slide off his back if he were to move. The conversation he'd had with Trip kept coming back to his mind. Of course he too had thought of the possibility that the paralysis might affect Trip's respiratory tract, but he hadn't dared to finish the thought, let alone talk about it. Losing Trip in this horrible way would be unbearable. How was he supposed to go on without Trip? How was Enterprise supposed to function without Trip? It couldn't be the same without Trip's charming smile, without his jokes, and above all, without his knowledge. Trip was an exceptionally gifted engineer, the best in the whole fleet. But what use was all that knowledge to him if he wasn't able to move?

Jon felt a terrible sadness take hold of him as he let his eyes wander over the thin form under the covers. They'd known each other for eight years now, had stuck together in more than one tight situation and had even saved each other's life a couple of times. But now, there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do against fate, a fate that had it in for Trip and wasn't bound to let him go. The worst thing about it was watching Trip suffer. And Jon knew that Trip was suffering. On the outside, it seemed as if he had accepted what was going on, maybe even came to terms with it, but Jon knew that being as helpless like this was almost more than Trip could take.

He heard a sob coming from the direction of the bed. Then another one. Trip was crying in his sleep. Porthos raised his head, turning around so he could lick Trip's fingers. Jon got up, intending to wake Trip, but then decided against it. When awake, Trip kept the tears at bay, kept his pain to himself. But it was crucial for him to shed these tears. Gently, Jon wiped the wetness off Trip's face. "It's okay, Trip," he whispered. "It's alright."

Jon gave Trip a thoughtful look, then shrugged. Quickly, he stepped out of his uniform and crawled under the covers next to Trip, who was still lying on his side, his back turned to Archer. Jon put an arm around his friend, pulling him into a consoling hug. Slowly, the sobs subsided.

* * *

 

As Jon opened his eyes, he realized he was still holding Trip. Obviously, he'd slept next to him the whole night. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he pulled his arm back and got up.

"Hope ya didn't do anythin' tonight I'd have to tell my mom about."

As he heard the amused voice, Jon turned around. "Hey, you're awake." He forced a small smile. "You were crying. I thought a little comfort wouldn't hurt you." Jon stretched. "What about breakfast?"

"Sounds great."

Jon went over to the comm panel, calling the galley and ordering their breakfast. Then he pulled the covers off the bed. "I'll get you to the bathroom," he said.

When Jon put an arm under his friend's back, beginning to pick him up, Trip's head suddenly lolled backwards, startling Jon despite Phlox' warning. Involuntarily, he pulled his hand back, and Trip fell back onto the pillow. "Dammit."

"I'm alright, Jon," Trip said placatingly. "Should've told you."

"How long do you know?"

"I noticed sometime durin' the night."

"You should have woken me up."

"Why? You were fast asleep and snorin'. And you couldn't have done anythin' anyway. Maybe it'll be best if you get me down to sickbay right away."

Jon pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "Phlox can't take care of you any better than I can. I'll just have to watch out. Besides, breakfast is on the way already."

* * *

 

Two hours later Trip was ready to return to sickbay. Jon didn't like being forced to bring him back, but he had to tend to his duties as a captain. He opened a comm link.

"Archer to Lieutenant Reed."

"Go ahead, sir."

"Please come to my quarters, Lieutenant, Trip and I could use some help."

"On my way, sir."

Trip turned his eyes to look at Jon. "You could ask Phlox to send a med team to get me."

Jon shook his head. "I got you here, and I'll get you back." He picked up his friend, careful to let Trip's head come to rest on his shoulder. "I wonder if Malcolm's gonna be happy about his new career."

Trip chuckled. "Oh I'm sure he'll love playin' door opener for us."

* * *

 

With Malcolm's help, Jon brought Trip back to Sickbay, putting him down on his accustomed biobed. "Stay with him," he told Malcolm in a low voice. "I need to talk to Phlox."

"Ah, Captain, there you are." Phlox entered the room, a smile displaying on his face. "How is Commander Tucker this morning?"

Jon took the doctor by the arm, guiding him out of Trip's hearing range. "It's happened, just like you said it would. He can't move his head anymore."

"Unfortunately, that was to be expected."

"Doctor, I talked to Trip yesterday." It was kind of hard for Jon to begin. Everything within him was screaming at him to shut up, not to tell Phlox what he had to tell him. He licked his lips. "He thinks that the poison's going to affect his respiratory tract as well."

If Jon had been hoping for a reassuring headshake on Phlox' part, he was being disappointed. Phlox only fixed him with an questioning look. "Yes?"

"Is there a possibility that this will happen?" Jon asked, alarmed.

"Yes, Captain, unfortunately there is."

"And what are the odds that it'll occur?"

Phlox tilted his head to one side.

"Doc!"

"I'd say, about a eighty five percent that it will happen."

Jon stared at Phlox, his eyes wide with shock. "So, you're saying you're expecting it?"

"Indeed, Captain."

Archer began to pace. "How soon?"

"Considering the progress of the paralysis so far, in all likelihood sometime this afternoon."

Archer stopped in his tracks, turning around. "Today?" he exclaimed.

"Yes, Captain. I'm sorry, but I can't do anything. I have already prepared the respirator."

Jon ran a hand over his eyes. He felt so tired. Could it be possible that it might be still today that he had to let Trip die? It had all happened so fast. But he had to keep his promise. "He doesn't want that, doc."

"Captain?"

"He doesn't want you to hook him up to the respirator."

"That would mean his certain death."

"Yes, doc." Jon looked Phlox in the eyes that widened in outrage.

"I cannot allow that."

"Yes, doc, you can allow it. I promised Trip."

"It is Commander Tucker's express wish?"

"Yes, Phlox. It isn't easy for me, either. But I can see Trip's reasons. Just look at him. We can't do that to him."

"Suffocation is not an easy way to die."

"He's hoping that maybe you could give him a sedative. It's the last and only thing we can do for him, doc. We owe him that much."

Phlox nodded slowly. "I am so very sorry that I can't help the Commander in any way, Captain. If I saw only the slightest hope of improvement, I wouldn't allow this that easily. But there is no prospect of finding a cure anytime soon. I will do what you say ."

"Thanks, doc." Jon's voice was choked with tears, and he had to swallow a few times before he returned to Trip's biobed. He nodded as Trip looked at him questioningly and put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Stay with him, Lieutenant. Enterprise's going to manage without you for today." Malcolm gave him an astonished look, and Jon knew that he should tell him about Phlox' assumption. But he just couldn't do so. "I'll come back later."

As he pressed the panel to open the door, he heard Malcolm's voice. "What do you think of a game of chess? I'll move your pieces, and I won't let you win." Maybe it was for the best that Malcolm wasn't aware of the fact that in all likelihood, his friend was going to die still today.


	14. Chapter 14

When Hoshi Sato pushed the small trolley laden with food through the sickbay doors, she heard Commander Tucker's voice: "Bishop to E6, Lieutenant, and... checkmate. Hey, I said E6. You're cheatin', Malcolm."

"Hey guys," Hoshi interrupted. "What about some food?"

Malcolm looked up and smiled at her. The Commander's head lay motionless on the pillow, but he peered at her from the corner of his eyes and she saw a grin spread on his face. Hoshi tried not to let any of her dismay show as she realized that the Commander was no longer able to move his head.

"Could you put that aside, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm cleared the table, and Hoshi placed Trip's plate in front of him.

"Mmm, what're we havin'?"

"Meatloaf and mashed potatoes."

"Smells great."

Hoshi handed Malcolm his tray, then placed a napkin on Trip's chest.

"Any news from the bridge, Hoshi?" Trip asked.

"Nothing at all. It's quite boring up there, to tell the truth. T'Pol told me to ask you if you're going to talk to her later about the calibrations of the cloaking device."

"Oops." Trip's eyebrows drew together. "I totally forgot about that appointment yesterday." He glanced at Malcolm. "First I come to the briefin' without shavin' first, and then I forget about those technology configurations of hers. D'you think she's gonna see to it that I get the sack?"

"Hm." Malcolm shrugged, calmly proceeding to shovel some more mashed potatoes into his mouth. "Maybe you can make it up to her somehow. If you're lucky, she'll even understand why you couldn't make it yesterday."

Hoshi looked from one man to the other. Their good-natured bantering seemed a little too morbid for her tastes. On the other hand she saw these sarky comments were just another way for Trip to ease some of the tension. And if sarcasm was his way of dealing with the situation, then it was fine with her.

"That appointment with T'Pol wasn't the only one you forgot about," she teased. "What about your massage?"

"Sorry, Hoshi. I'll make it up to ya, promise. I had a meetin' with the Cap'n yesterday, so I couldn't make it."

"And you think I'll accept that as an excuse? Believe me, buddy, I'm gonna make you pay for that one!"

They laughed, as if it were perfectly normal for the Chief Engineer to lie paralyzed on a bed in sickbay, and have the Communications Officer feed him his lunch. But it helped a great deal, simply laughing once in a while.

"Tell T'Pol I'd be happy to help her," Trip said finally. "If it's okay with her to come down to sickbay, I'd love to take a look at those configurations." He raised his eyebrows. "Wow, the idea of integratin' that cloakin' technology into the ship's system... we'd be able to sneak up on every vessel or planet without them noticin'."

All of a sudden Trip broke off, staring absentmindedly into space.

"Commander?" Hoshi asked, frowning.

"Malcolm! What if the aliens didn't let us escape after all! What if they're still followin' us with their vessel cloaked, and are jus' waitin' to jump us with our weapons offline!"

Malcolm froze, fork still in mouth, staring at Trip with a mixture of shock and dismay on his face. Then he sprang to his feet, carelessly dropping his fork onto the tray.

"Damnit!"

"Have T'Pol scan for space fluctuations. Even the most sophisticated cloakin' field is bound to cause some small fluctuations. Or maybe there's another area the scanners can't identify."

Malcolm only nodded and hurried out of sickbay, the double doors sliding shut behind him.

* * *

 

The corridors were quiet and deserted as Captain Archer made his way down to sickbay. It was night on Enterprise, and alpha shift had long since retreated to their quarters. Jon was relieved there hadn't been any bad news from sickbay lately; Trip was bored, but he seemed to be feeling fine. There was no sign of the paralysis taking possession of his respiratory system, and Jon began to hope his friend would be spared this particular fate, at least. Nevertheless, Phlox had refused to let Trip sleep in Jon's quarters yet again, and the Captain saw his point. If any emergency arose, it was better to have Trip in sickbay where the doctor could help him. And if he couldn't take Trip with him, then he would simply stay with him in sickbay.

Smiling, Jon stepped up beside his friend's bed. It was almost midnight, but Trip wasn't asleep.

"How do you feel?"

"You don't want me to answer that, do you?" Trip's eyes came to rest on his friend. Drawing himself a chair, the Captain took a seat beside the bed. He reached out and put a gentle hand on Trip's cheek, turning the engineer's head so Trip could look at him.

"Anyone come to see you today?"

"Lieutenant Hess was here and told me news from Engineerin'. And a few hours ago Travis and Hoshi came by to bring me dinner."

"Actually I was planning on bringing you dinner myself, but you managed to mess up schedule yet again with your theory about space fluctuations."

"I know. T'Pol was gonna come and talk to me about those cloakin' configurations. Didn't show up, though."

"Yep, she was busy scanning for those space anomalies you mentioned."

"Did she find any?"

"She did."

Jon saw Trip would have wanted to scramble to a sitting position at these words, but the engineer could only close his eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath.

"Are they movin'?"

"They are. But we can't be sure the fluctuations are indeed being caused by a cloaked vessel."

"Sure, and if pigs had wings, bacon would fly."

"There _are_ several explanations for that phenomenon, and T'Pol informed us about every single one of them, of course. But she, too, thinks it's the aliens causing the anomaly."

"What are you gonna do?"

"T'Pol's keeping a close eye on these fluctuations. Malcolm has rearmed Security, placed guards everywhere and equipped the Engineering crew with phasers in case we're being boarded. Right now he's busy working on the torpedoes to try and increase out shooting range."

"I don't think they're gonna spring an attack on us. If they wanted to attack us, they'd've done so long ago. They know we're no match for them."

"That's true," Jon admitted. "They could have blown us to pieces any time they wanted to. There's no need for them to sneak up on us and then attack all of a sudden."

"Maybe they're not aimin' at blowin' us to pieces," Trip said slowly. "You know what I think, Cap'n? To me, it looks like they only want to retrieve their technology. I think they're hopin' to avoid a fight with us." He smiled at Archer's astonished look. "Maybe they aren't quite as violent as we thought."

"Not violent?" Jon took a deep breath. "Just look what they did to you, Trip! And you're saying they're not violent?"

"You may have a point there, Cap'n. But... how would you react if someone sneaked aboard Enterprise, downloaded our technology and then tried to get away with the data?"

"We didn't download any data from their ship."

"No, but down on that moon, we did."

"Only because you thought the building was deserted."

"Does that make any difference?"

Archer stared into space, thinking. "Well, be that as it may, in any case we're prepared for them if they attack."

"Did you increase warp speed?"

"The alien vessel reaches Warp 8, at least. How're we going to escape them with Warp 5?"

"I see your point." Trip grimaced. "Warp 8," he repeated then, his face brightening up again. "I'd love to take a look at their engines one of these days."

"You should've asked them to give you a tour when you were on their ship." The instant the words had left his mouth Jon bit his lip, mentally kicking himself. He was about to apologize to Trip when suddenly the comm gave a crackling sound.

"Security team report to Engineering. We're being boarded."

Archer dashed over to the wall, slamming his hand down to the comm button. "T'Pol?"

"There are eight bio signs, all of them down in Engineering."

Not taking the time to give her an answer Archer was out the sickbay doors, heading down the corridor towards the turbolift.

* * *

 

It was obvious the aliens had not been expecting them to offer any resistance.

The first two to board Enterprise were being stunned by the Engineering crew only seconds after they'd materialized. The other six left of the boarding team quickly scrambled for cover, opening fire on the Engineering staff who were still trying to stun them. A few minutes later Malcolm burst into the room followed by his team, threw a quick glance around, then barked at his Security guards to spread out and encircle the intruders. He soon realized that the aliens' weapons had a greater shooting range than their Starfleet phasers, but his team made up for that lack using fighting tactics the aliens' rather disorganized formation was no match to. Using the warp core for cover, the security team slowly approached the intruders, and after only a few minutes time several of their opponents lay stunned on the deck.

The aliens were already about to retreat when Archer entered Engineering in a run, drawn phaser at the ready. At his feet he saw two aliens lying unconscious on the deck. When Archer got to his knees beside them, they began to dematerialize.

"Lieutenant Reed!" Archer shouted in the direction of the weapon fire.

"Sir?" came the immediate reply. Firing his phaser in the direction of the intruders, Malcolm came running towards him. "We managed to stun six of them, sir. They're beaming them back."

"I need to have one of them, Lieutenant. Take one and see to it that they don't beam him back, I don't care how."

Malcolm nodded, letting his eyes wander over the room. His team were still searching the corners, phasers ready in hand, but the fight seemed to be over. Reed's eyes fell on one of the aliens who seemed to be rather tall even for one of their species. Grabbing him by his thin, spider-like wrists, Malcolm dragged the alien over to the warpcore where the electromagnetic field would prevent any transporter beams from picking him up.

Walking over to where the alien lay, Jon took a closer look at the tall being. Trip and Malcolm had been right; it was indeed a quite strange looking species.

The comm chirped. "T'Pol to Captain Archer."

Jon pressed the button. "Report, T'Pol."

"The alien vessel has decloaked and is now remaining at a distance of about 2000 kilometers."

"Keep an eye on them, T'Pol. Notify me immediately if there are any changes." Jon turned to Malcolm. "At least we have a hostage now. They'll endanger one of their own crew members if they try to attack us."

"Shall I take him to the brig, Captain?"

"Can they beam him out of there, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. The brig is shielded, any transporter beams would be deflected."

"Good. Have him guarded, and notify me as soon as he regains consciousness."

* * *

 

Archer felt worry weighing down on him like a ton of bricks as he made his way down to the brig. There was no use in fooling himself. One single prisoner didn't guarantee the safety of his ship. The aliens were a lot more advanced, and their transporter technology made Enterprise's pale in comparison. They might not be able to beam their crewman out of the brig, but there was no reason why they shouldn't simply transfer the whole Enterprise crew onto their vessel. Or start another attack. Archer knew the odds were not in their favor if that happened. If he'd only been able to talk to the prisoner. A few minutes ago he'd ordered Hoshi to try and find a way of written communication with the stranger. She'd managed to decode the aliens' written language, so maybe they could find a way of using it for communication.

Entering the brig, Archer saw Malcolm standing guard in front of one of the cells, inspecting the various instruments the alien had had with him.

"Lieutenant? What are you doing here?"

"My job, sir." Malcolm raised an indignant eyebrow.

"I don't think it's the Security Chief's job to stand guard in the brig."

"There are no regulations against it, sir."

"No there aren't." Jon knew that Malcolm had a personal interest in this particular prisoner being guarded as closely as possible, and decided on dropping the subject.

"How is he?" Archer jerked his chin in the direction of the alien who sat on the narrow bunk, obviously feeling very uncomfortable.

"Not so good. To a person taller than 3 meters Enterprise's dimensions are rather small."

Grinning sourly, Archer stepped up beside Malcolm. "Were you able to identify any of these, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm tilted his head to one side. "Some of them." He picked up some kind of phase pistol. "I'm sure this is a weapon of some kind. A little more advanced than ours." He took another piece of equipment. "This could be a communicator. And this..." he picked up some kind of mask connected to a small container," is probably a respirator. I don't have the slightest idea what the other stuff is, but I guess they're scanners or similar scientific equipment."

"A respirator?" Jon repeated, throwing a glance at the prisoner. The alien was clearly having trouble breathing.

"I think our air is harder for them to breathe than theirs to us," Malcolm confirmed his thoughts. "Shall we give it to him, sir?"

"Yes. Be careful, Lieutenant."

Weapon ready in hand, Malcolm opened the door and held the respirator out to the prisoner. The alien looked first at Malcolm, then at Archer. Then he slowly took the device from Reed's hand, activated it and held it in front of his mouth, taking a deep breath.

"We should also lower the temperature in the cell," Jon said.

"Do you really want him to get that comfortable, sir? I mean, think of what they did to Trip."

"Do it, Lieutenant. Our prisoners are being treated as well as possible. This has nothing to do with Trip."

"Aye, sir."

"And then call Ensign Hanks. He can stand guard the rest of the shift."

"Sir, I want..."

"I know, Malcolm. You see it as your personal duty to guard one of the aliens who did this to Trip. And I can understand that. But I want you to go to Trip and stay with him. I don't want him to be alone now." Jon wiped a hand across his eyes. "Malcolm, Phlox is afraid the paralysis will sooner or later take possession of Trip's respiratory system. It didn't happen this afternoon as he'd said it probably would, but there is still a very high possibility that it will happen, and soon."

Malcolm didn't say anything, but his shocked expression was an answer of its own.

"Trip doesn't want Phlox to hook him up to life support," Jon said quietly.

"But that means..." Malcolm's eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. For a moment he only stared at his Captain before he managed to get a grip on himself. There was an expression of utter desolation in his eyes as he swallowed and mumbled, "I see."

"Go to him, Malcolm. We don't know how much time he has left."

Malcolm nodded, seeing the agony in his superior's eyes. The agony of having to put captain's duties before his feelings for a friend. The agony of having to question the prisoner now, of all times, instead of sitting at Trip's side, helping him to stand this through. "I'll be with him," he said quietly. "You can be sure of that."

"I am, Malcolm." Jon resisted the urge to put a comforting hand on Malcolm's shoulder, knowing the Security Officer felt uncomfortable being touched by his Captain in that way.

"Notify me if there are any changes."

Malcolm nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. When Ensign Hanks entered the brig, he motioned him over to his post, nodded at the Captain and left the room without another word.


	15. Chapter 15

Jonathan Archer turned around to his prisoner and noticed the alien watching him intently. The strange features didn't seem to be able to express a wide range of emotions, at least not the kinds of emotions a human would have recognized. But if anyone had asked Jon to interpret the feelings he saw on the alien's face, he'd have guessed it was something akin to curiosity. What was taking Hoshi so long? He needed answers.

Raising his thin, bony hand, the alien pointed at one of the instruments lying on the table outside the cell. Jon picked it up.

"That one?" he asked. The alien made an affirmative gesture. "Do you have any idea what this is, Ensign?" Jon asked, looking at Hanks. The young crewman shook his head. "I don't think you should give it to him, Sir."

"What harm can it do? Hopefully he won't be stupid enough to try and fire a weapon in here. Open the door, Ensign, and watch out in case he tries anything."

Carefully, Jon entered the cell which was now noticeably cooler than before, and handed the alien the strange device. Taking it from his outstretched hand, the prisoner pulled a few switches, and suddenly some kind of mechanical voice came from a speaker.

"Maybe we can understand each other now."

Startled, Jon took a step backwards. An advanced translation computer. Their high level of development provided this species with means that the Starfleet technology still lacked. Jon turned to Hanks.

"It's alright, Ensign. Notify Ensign Sato I won't need her here." He looked back at the stranger. "I'm Captain Archer and my ship's name is Enterprise. We're from Earth. May I ask who you are?"

The alien bowed his head. "I thank you, Captain, for adjusting the temperature to a level I feel comfortable with. My people cannot endure heat for a very long time. And I also want to thank you for giving me the respirator. Breathing your air is very difficult for me."

"We are no torturers," Archer said. "May I ask who you are and what you want?"

"I am the Captain of my ship," the alien answered slowly. "My name is of no importance to you, as is the name of my species. You would not be able to pronounce it, and the translation device fails when it comes to transferring our names. Besides, we rather keep our privacy on most occasions. You can call me Captain."

"Alright, Captain, what do want from us? Why did you attack my ship?"

"We did not mean to attack your vessel. The plan was to pay you a short visit without any of you noticing that we were there. I am indeed rather surprised you were prepared for our boarding team."

"Well, we were, thanks to quick thinking on part of our Chief Engineer and quick reaction on part of our Security Officer." Archer smiled sourly. "So, what do you want?"

"We want the technology you stole down on that moon."

Archer pressed his lips together. "We are no thieves," he said through gritted teeth.

"You are not? Your men break into our research complex, download our complete database and then use weapon force to get out of the building again. I do not know what you would call actions of that kind. We call it stealing. But maybe your species is used to doing this kind of thing."

Jon remembered what Trip had said, how he himself would react if someone tried to steal Enterprise's database. Taking a deep breath, he fought to master his anger.

"We are explorers," he said then. "Enterprise was sent on a mission to make friendly contact with new species, but also to explore unknown space and map undiscovered areas. We ran across this solar system some time ago and found the atmosphere down on that moon intriguing enough to run a few scans of it. When our instruments picked up an unidentifiable area on the surface, my Chief Engineer and my Security officer went down there to take a closer look at it. As they came across the building, their scanners didn't pick up any life signs. So they thought it was deserted. But as I said, we are explorers. My Chief Engineer is very gifted in that area, and he loves to study new technologies. He wanted to find out why someone had built that big a complex on a deserted moon, and didn't leave anybody in charge. That's why he downloaded the database, to have our expert linguist translate it for him and find out what he wanted to know. But then my officers were attacked by your men, Captain." Archer's voice took on an angry undertone, but he refrained from saying anything about Trip. The humanoid gave him a long look, interlacing his long, spider-like fingers.

"I understand," he said finally. "And what about the cloaked shuttle you used when you boarded my ship? The vessel was certainly not designed by your species."

"No, it's a Suliban cellship. Have you heard of the Suliban? Some time ago they tried to drag us into a war of theirs, and took me prisoner. I was able to escape with that vessel, and to be honest, I didn't really feel like giving it back to them afterwards." Jon glanced at his prisoner to whom he had to look up even though the man was sitting. "You really think we're pirates, don't you?"

"I admit we are a little paranoid as far as alien races are concerned. We are not very eager to make contact with new species. We have made very bad experiences in that area."

"How's that?"

"When the inhabitants of our homeworld's neighbor planet had developed spacefare, they tried to steal our resources. It ended up in a war which lasted for many years, made half of our planet uninhabitable and nearly destroyed our world's ecosystem. Our planet cannot provide for all its inhabitants anymore."

"So that's why you're trying to adapt the moon to your needs."

"We spent a long time looking for a suitable system where we would not disturb anyone, and even more importantly, where no one would disturb us. We found that moon to be suitable since it has a gravity similar to that of our homeworld. The first experiments, however, did not go all that smoothly. We were able to produce an atmosphere, but it was too dense to be breathable. But we managed to build that dome and the building, and some of our best scientists are currently working on the project of making the whole moon suitable for our people."

Archer nodded. The whole business suddenly made a lot more sense.

"The scientists refused to have Security assigned to their complex," the Captain continued. "They said the guards' presence would only hinder their work, and claimed the system was so unappealing and out of the way that no one would come there anyway. When your men entered the building, they panicked. They did not mean to harm your crewman, they simply did not know what to do."

Well, maybe they didn't, but in any case it's too late for Trip, Archer thought bitterly. But he didn't say anything. Trip's condition was not the topic here.

"I believe you when you say you are explorers," the stranger said. "Still I must insist you give us back our technology. We have very strict guidelines concerning the handing-over of technology to less developed species."

Jon snorted derisively. "Less developed species." He looked up. "You don't happen to know the Vulcans, do you?"

"We heard of them. Why?"

"They have a similar codex. Listen, Captain, I see your point. But I can't agree with you when you say we're "less developed" just because we aren't as technologically advanced as your people. It's not like we don't know what to do with your technology. My Chief Engineer does understand these configurations. And do you have any idea what an improvement your cloaking technology would be? Or a more advanced warp engine?"

"I am sorry, Captain Archer, but I cannot allow that."

Archer felt anger rise within him. How many times had he heard this particular argument from the Vulcans who refused to share their technology with the humans, saying they mustn't interfere with their development. Were all advanced species that arrogant? Archer hated feeling so small standing in front of that being who was almost a hundred and fifty centimeters taller than him.

"You're my prisoner, do you really think you are in the position to make demands?"

He hadn't been intending to say this, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. The stranger's rigid face changed into a slight grimace.

"I noticed you are an intelligent and sensitive man, Captain Archer," he said, and the translator even managed to transfer some of the benevolence in his voice. "The way you risked your own life to save your crewman from my ship impressed me. I admit that at that point I started wondering if all of this might be some sort of cultural misunderstanding, and if you might be more than the thieves and pirates my people deemed you to be. I am glad that I was confirmed in my opinion about you. But if I decided to destroy your vessel, you would not stand the slightest chance against us. I could easily kill you with my bare hands, and I could do so before your guard out there would even get the chance to open the door. But I would prefer to retrieve our technology in a peaceful way and end this first contact positively despite all misunderstandings."

Jon was fighting an inward battle. His pride wouldn't allow him to give in that easily. Damn it, these people had sent Trip through hell, and he was still suffering from the consequences of what these aliens had done to him. And the alien Captain's arrogance only served to fuel Jon's rage. On the other hand Archer realized that the stranger was right. Enterprise was no match for the alien vessel, and he had to protect his crew. Moreover, Jon understood the alien Captain's motives. If he'd been in his place, he probably wouldn't have acted any different.

"Maybe I can offer you something that will make up for the loss of the technology," the stranger said, startling Archer out of his thoughts.

"Something non-technological?"

"Yes, but I think you will be quite interested once you hear what it is."

"Let's hear it. I'm all ears."

* * *

 

When Hoshi entered sickbay, she saw Malcolm and T'Pol sitting at Trip's bedside. T'Pol raised her head.

"Ensign Sato! I assumed you were assisting Captain Archer in his efforts to communicate with the alien?"

"The Captain doesn't need me down there. Looks like the aliens found a way of communication."

Stepping up beside the bed, Hoshi smiled at Trip. A second later, however, her skilled ears picked up a sound that didn't belong here, and Hoshi stopped in her tracks, frowning.

"How long has the Commander had trouble breathing?"

"What?" Malcolm exclaimed, half-rising from his chair. Raising an eyebrow, T'Pol gave Hoshi a questioning look.

"Hoshi, you ol' traitor." Trip's voice sounded weary. "D'you have to blab on me?"

"I'm sorry, Commander." Hoshi took a step backwards, shaking her head in dismay. "I didn't know you wanted to keep it a secret."

The look of shock on Malcolm's face changed into an expression of deep sadness.

"Don't do this to us, Trip," he whispered, his voice sounding hoarse. "Please don't do this to us."

T'Pol got up as well. "I will call Dr. Phlox."

"No need." The doctor came around a corner, hypospray ready in hand. "The monitor's alarm already told me what I needed to know."

He pressed the hypospray against Trip's neck, and there was a small hiss as its contents emptied into Trip's circulation. "This will regulate your breathing for the next two to three hours, Commander."

"And then what?" Hoshi looked from one to the other. "What's going on here?"

"The paralysis is taking possession of the Commander's respiratory system", T'Pol explained. "When his breathing fails the doctor will hook him on life support."

"And that is exactly what Trip doesn't want us to do", Malcolm said flatly. His face had gone pale. "He doesn't want artificial respiration."

"But... but that would mean..." Hoshi broke off as the full meaning of Malcolm's words became clear to her. Retreating a few steps, she leaned against the wall for support.

"You were aware of that?" T'Pol asked, as calm and composed as ever, but for the split of a second her voice wavered.

"The Captain told me earlier." Walking over to Hoshi, Malcolm grabbed her by the shoulders. "Try to get a grip on yourself, Ensign. Don't you see why Trip doesn't want this?"

Hoshi held on to him, tears running down her cheeks. "I do understand, Lieutenant. I understand very well. But what about us if he dies? Malcolm, what are we going to do without him?"

Putting his arms around her, Malcolm pulled her into a gentle hug. "I don't know, Hoshi. We'll just have to try and go on, somehow. But now we have to be strong for him, do you understand?"

Hoshi nodded, raising a hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks.

"Hoshi?"

Letting go of Malcolm, the young woman raised her head. "Yes, Commander?" Wiping her cheeks once again, she stepped up beside Trip's bed.

He smiled at her. "Now jus' forget about the Commander for once, Hoshi. I'm sorry I scared you like that. Maybe you ought to go to your quarters, get some rest. It's the middle of the night, and you look dog-tired."

Fiercely, Hoshi shook her head. "No, Comm... Trip, I certainly won't. If you choose this way, we certainly will not leave you. We'll be at your side as long as we can."

"Archer to T'Pol," a voice came from the speaker on the wall. Getting up from her chair, T'Pol went to answer the call.

"T'Pol here."

"T'Pol, has any part of the alien technology been integrated into the ship's systems yet?"

"Negative, sir. We did not yet have the time to finish the calibrations."

"Good. Listen, T'Pol, the whole database needs to be deleted."

"Deleted?"

"Yes. Everything. The back-ups as well. All data we got from the moon must be erased. Oh, and don't forget about Trip's padds. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir."

"Get to work. Make it quick, T'Pol, but be careful to delete everything. The aliens are going to check on their scanners if we really got rid of all their data. I'll beam with the alien Captain to their ship, and I'll take your call there."

A voice came from the background, and T'Pol turned back to the speaker. "The Commander says be sure to put on some warm clothes, Captain."

"Are you in sickbay, T'Pol?" Archer sounded alarmed. "How's Trip?"

"He's had slight difficulties breathing. Dr. Phlox gave him a hypospray that will help the symptoms. He assumes, though, that the difficulties will set in anew in two or three hours time."

T'Pol's voice sounded as calm as ever when she told Archer that Trip had only a few hours to live.

There was a moment's silence, and when the Captain finally answered, his voice sounded croaky. "I'll be back until then. Call me immediately if there are any changes."

"What are you going to do on the alien vessel, if I may ask, Captain?"

"The aliens promised to give me something in return for deleting their technology from our database. I'll tell you later, time's a-wasting. Archer out."

"Pity," Trip said. "I had hoped we might be able to keep at least part of it. The cloakin' field, for example. Or that warp technology." His blue eyes lit up. "Jus' think of what we coulda done with that." He sighed. The thought of giving up all that technology just like that hurt his very soul. "I'd really like to know what they offered in return. What could possibly compensate for all that data?"

"I am sure the Captain will tell us about it." T'Pol looked at Hoshi and Malcolm. "Lieutenant, Ensign, may I ask for your assistance? We have our orders."

Hoshi stroked the back of Trip's hand. "I'll ask Travis to come and keep you company. Or would you rather like to sleep a little?"

"No, Hoshi, I'll have enough time for that later. I don't want to waste my last hours sleepin'. It'd be nice if Travis could come."

"We'll be back too. As soon as possible." Forcing a smile, Malcolm gave Trip a short pat on the shoulder, then followed T'pol who was already on her way to the door.

* * *

 

Ninety minutes later they were done. T'Pol reported to Captain Archer that the alien technology had been deleted, and that the Commander's condition was not yet showing any signs of deterioration. Again, they all gathered in sickbay around Trip's bed. Conversation was a little tense since they all were harshly aware of the fact that Trip didn't have much time left, but the Commander himself seemed to be simply glad to have all his friends gathered around him.

"I'd really like to know what the aliens're gonna give the Cap'n," Trip muttered. He was trying to get conversation going again, and besides, he needed something to distract himself. He was itching all over, and the harder he tried to ignore the unpleasant sensation, the more troublesome it got. Of course he couldn't very well ask his friends to give him a good scratch, but maybe the feeling would subside if he tried to concentrate on something else.

"Technology, probably," Hoshi said in a slightly disparaging tone of voice. "The Captain'd better ask them for a cure. Maybe they have something that would heal your paralysis, after all."

Trip sighed. "No, Hoshi, they don't. The antidote for the poison was in the database. If there was another variation we woulda found it there, too. Why should the aliens have developed cures for species they have never seen before? Sounds rather illogical."

"Maybe they developed one after you'd been on their vessel," Malcolm said.

"Why should they? Tell me one reason why they woulda done that. Out of the kindness of their hearts?"

Malcolm grimaced. It didn't seem like kindness was a characteristic feature of that species, at least not where humans were concerned. Trip was probably right. The fierce determination with which they had clung to that one small hope had probably only been their desperate wish to save Trip from his fate. Conversation quickly died again, and Trip fixed his gaze on the ceiling, thinking. Even if the aliens had been able to provide them with a cure, it would have been too late. He could all but feel his time running short. It was a strange feeling, lying here and waiting for death. Scary, somehow. The fact that with every second the inevitable was drawing closer and closer without him being able to do anything to prevent it frightened him. Still, he was not afraid to die. In that case he would have picked the wrong job working on a starship. Space was a dangerous place to be, and Trip had known right from the beginning that it was very possible that he was going to die out here. When he'd thought about that, however, he'd always imagined it happening on a dangerous mission or maybe in an engineering accident. Never like this. He'd never pictured himself lying in sickbay, unable to move, helplessly waiting for death to come. He wondered how his parents were going to react to it. The news how he had died. Trip felt a deep regret when he thought of the people who were closest to him. He'd meant to ask Jon to call his parents so he could talk to them one more time, but somehow there had never been time. And now it was too late. Well, maybe that was just as well. Trip knew it was going to be Jon who'd break the news to them, and he felt strangely reassured at the thought. Jon would find the right words. And his parents were going to remember their son the way he had been. Outgoing, optimistic, and, most important, full of energy and enjoying life the way it was.

No, he wasn't afraid of the end. Phlox would give him a sedative and he'd simply fall asleep to never wake up again. Still, Trip hadn't planned on going just yet. He mourned for the things he would leave behind, his friends, his work. He so wished he could see Engineering one more time, and, for a moment he considered asking his friends to take him there. If they really tried they might even be able to convince Phlox. But Trip decided against it. He wanted to spare the crew the sight of a paralyzed Chief Engineer whose head would dangle limply to one side if no one held it. They didn't need that. The crew didn't, and he didn't either. That was not the way he wanted his staff to remember him. He only felt sorry that he had to leave them, just like that. That he couldn't even tell them how proud he was of them.

Trip ran his tongue over his dry lips. "Would you mind gettin' me some water, Malcolm?"

Malcolm nodded, getting up, and a moment later he returned carrying a glass. T'Pol carefully lifted Trip's head so he was able to drink. Trip tried to remember if she had ever touched him that gently before. As she lowered his head back onto the pillow he smiled at her. "Do Vulcans believe in an afterlife, T'Pol?" he asked.

"One might say so. At least some of us do believe in an afterlife, in a way."

"Will you tell me about it?"

"If you are interested, Commander?"

Trip would have nodded, but as it was he only gave her an encouraging look.

T'Pol took a seat next to his bed. "The belief is based on old Vulcan myths that can be traced back to Surak's time. The legend says that, shortly before they die, Vulcans give their katra…"

"What's that?" Trip interrupted.

"Maybe the best description would be "essence of the soul". As I said, according to the legend, shortly before they die, Vulcans have the power to hand over their katra to a close relative or under certain circumstances a close friend, who then takes it to the Hall of Ancient Thought on Mount Seleya on Vulcan."

"This "handing-over...how does it work?"

"In a purely telepathical way."

"So I couldn't do it?"

"No, Commander. The legend stems from a time when Vulcans didn't know about the existence of other sentient species, but there is no doubt that only Vulcans are believed to have a katra. Humans have their own belief in an afterlife."

"I'm wonderin' how it's gonna look like there," Trip muttered. He soon would know. He felt it. That uneasy feeling, as if someone were sitting on his chest taking away his breath grew stronger again. His time had come.

Again it was Hoshi who first noticed Trip's breathing becoming louder and more labored. A cold fist seemed to close around her heart when she looked at him. A moment later Phlox appeared, pushing a respirator. Trip, lying flat on his back, didn't see it, but Malcolm got up.

"Phlox, you know..."

"Yes, Lieutenant, I know," Phlox interrupted. "But I want to be prepared in case the Commander changes his mind, after all."

"Good." Malcolm sat back down on his chair, frowning. Trip's breathing was becoming more and more labored as the minutes passed. Phlox ran his scanner over the Commander's chest.

"You said two to three hours, doctor," Hoshi said accusingly. "It hasn't even been two!"

"It looks like my estimation was not quite correct, Ensign," Phlox said, disappointment written all over his usually serene features. "The paralysis is more rapidly progressing than I thought."

"How much time does he have left?"

Phlox closed his eyes. "It will be too late for the sedative to take effect if I don't give it to him in seven or eight minutes time."

"What?" The officers turned around to the doctor. Nobody had been prepared for it happening so fast. They only had a few minutes left with Trip. Phlox tried injecting him with another hypospray, but it didn't help. By now, Trip was panting.

"Jon," he whispered.

The officers exchanged glances. "Damnit," Malcolm muttered under his breath, getting to his feet. In their shock they'd forgotten about calling the Captain. Malcolm flipped open his communicator.

"Reed to Archer."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Captain, Trip has very little time left. The symptoms came back all of a sudden, and his condition is deteriorating rapidly. Phlox said he has to inject him with the sedative in a few minutes time. You need to hurry, Captain."

A moment of silence followed. "On my way," Archer said then, his voice sounding strained. "Tell him to hang on. I'll be right there."

In the meantime, Trip had started panting harder, his breath coming in short ragged gasps. No matter how hard he tried, somehow he wasn't able to draw enough air into his lungs. How came it had all happened so fast? Only ten minutes ago he'd had hardly any trouble breathing, and now he was fighting for every lungful of air. And what was taking Jon so long?

"Malcolm." His friend bent down over him.

"Don't talk, Trip. Save your breath."

"Ask him what they gave him," Trip breathed. "I want to know what we got for all that technology."

"Sure, Trip." Malcolm smiled sadly. That was just like Trip. An engineer to his very last breath. "I'll ask him as soon as he gets here." Malcolm took a step backwards when Trip started coughing and gasping for air.

Stepping up at the head of the bed, T'Pol placed her fingers on Trip's temples. "Breathe with me, Commander." Her voice became more intense as she spoke. "Listen, Commander, I want you to let me guide your breathing."

Again, Trip coughed, and a trace of saliva made its way down his chin. Using the corner of Trip's pillow, T'Pol gently wiped it off. "Take a breath, Commander, take a deep breath. Now let it out again."

It took Trip a moment to be able to concentrate on her voice, but then he managed to follow her instructions. He was still not getting enough air, but the panic that had seemed to overwhelm him quieted down. With T'Pol's assistance, his breathing became a little less labored. Jon. He had to wait for Jon. He had to say goodbye to his best friend. From the corner of his eyes Trip saw the hypospray in Phlox' hand. The sedative. The stuff that would save him from the slow agonized death of choking. The stuff that would end his life. He would not wake up again. Trip didn't want to die. He wanted to stay here, be with his friends, talk to them, laugh with them and share their adventures. He wanted to know what Jon had gotten from those aliens, if it was something to improve Enterprise's engines. But he couldn't. Never again would he go down to Engineering, never again see his beloved warp engine, never again feel the familiar humming of the warp drive or watch the passing stars on observation deck. He had to go and leave Enterprise and his friends behind. But maybe that was just as well. He didn't want to go on living in this condition, his body immobilized by the paralysis. It had never been his way to idly lie around, and he hated the thought of being a burden to his friends or family. It was best to go, even if it was hard. His lungs were on fire, his breathing becoming more and more labored. Desperately, Trip gasped for air.

All of a sudden his senses became clear again. He heard Hoshi cry and felt Malcolm and Travis squeeze his hands. And there was T'Pol's calming voice, her fingers massaging his temples, her gentle instructions to keep breathing. His friends, his comrades who had stuck to him through thick and thin. He wanted to say goodbye to them. Wanted to see them one more time, Malcolm's sharp British features, T'Pol's controlled face and Hoshi's smile. But they had disappeared from his view, and there was no time left. Phlox stepped closer, sedative in hand.

"Jon," Trip whispered with the last bit of air he had left.


	16. Chapter 16

The tingle of the transporter beam had only just worn off when Jonathan Archer jumped off the platform and broke into a run for the door.

"Call sickbay, tell them I'm coming," he called over his shoulder, not waiting for the ensign standing at the transporter controls to acknowledge his order, then rushed out the door. The fingers of his right hand firmly closed, Archer sprinted down the empty hallways of his ship. He _had_ to make it. Wait for me, Trip, he pleaded inwardly. Hang on just a little while longer.

His side was on fire as he reached the sickbay doors and slammed his hand down on the panel in the wall. Why couldn't these bulkheads open faster? The doors had only halfway slid into the wall when Archer already squeezed himself through the opening.

"Trip!" he shouted.

"Hurry, Captain," Phlox called. "I need to give him the sedative, he's suffering!"

"Wait a minute!" Stumbling, Jon stepped up beside Trip's bed and took a deep breath.

Trip's face was red, his eyes larger than usual. Drawing a rattling breath, the engineer tried to force enough air into his lungs to be able to speak. "Jon."

"He wants to know what they gave you for that technology, Captain," Malcolm explained, his voice sounding hoarse and choked with tears.

"Something that's a thousand times worth all that damn technology. Your life, Trip."

Opening his tightly clenched fist, Jon handed Phlox a phial with a blue liquid inside. "The cure, doc. Adjusted to human physiology. All you need to do is inject it into his spine."

Not stopping to ask any questions, Phlox hurried to get his instruments.

"Turn him around," he called over his shoulder.

Trip felt his head pounding with the lack of oxygen. T'Pol's fingers on his temples felt cool. And Jon had come. He could say goodbye to his best friend. What had the Captain said the aliens had given him? A cure? "Your life," he'd said when Malcolm had voiced Trip's question earlier. But that was impossible. There was no cure. Trip had stopped hoping for one long ago. And he was ready to go. No way he would go through all the ups and downs of hope and disappointment all over again. He couldn't bear it any longer. He wanted to leave, go to a place where he could move again, a place he could explore and where his friends might follow him one day. He felt hands on his body, moving him with joined effort, turning him onto his stomach. Déjà vu. But no, it wasn't the aliens, the hands that were touching him felt soft and warm. T'Pol was still holding his head.

"Breathe, Commander."

Trip tried to follow her instructions, but it became harder and harder, squeezing air into his lungs. His breathing sounded harsh and strained by now, and he heard himself desperately gasp for air. It felt like his head was going to burst any minute. The sedative, Phlox, why can't you give me the sedative. Let me go.

"I'm afraid I can't give you any anesthetics, Commander, it would take too long to take effect."

What was that supposed to mean? What anesthetics was Phlox talking about? Trip felt Hoshi's hands gently pushing up his shirt, then the cold touch of a needle on his spine. No! Not again! NO! He opened his mouth to scream when the relentless pain seared though his back, but he didn't have any air left to do so. The only sound coming from his mouth was a choked gargle, a sound that made Jon and Malcolm tighten their grip on his hands. Tears fell from his eyes, and he gave a small choked noise that echoed in his ears like a scream of agony. Finally the terrible pain in his back relented, but his lungs were still giving him hell. It felt like they were on fire. He was suffocating. It was too late for the sedative. He couldn't get any air, no matter how hard he tried to breathe.

"Turn him around! Quick!" Dropping the syringe, Phlox gave them a hand, and together they managed to lift Trip off the bed and turn him onto his back again. His face was dark and contorted with pain, his eyes bulging.

"Captain." Looking up, Jon saw Phlox holding the respirator's tube in one hand. "It'll take some time for the cure to take effect. More time than the Commander has left."

Jon looked down at his friend. Trip was dying. His face was a grimace of pain, his mouth wide open as he desperately fought for air. But his lungs wouldn't fill anymore.

He had promised Trip, promised him to respect his wishes. But not like that. He couldn't let him die. Not in that slow cruel way.

"Captain!"

"Do it!"

T'Pol tilted Trip's head backward, and a second later Phlox began inserting the respirator's tube. Closing his eyes, Jon felt tears roll down his cheeks. Trip gave a retching sound, and the low humming of the respirator followed. Trip's eyes were closed, but his body was being supplied with oxygen again.

"Why did you hesitate to give the order, Captain?" T'Pol asked.

With a last glance at Trip Jon motioned for his officers to follow him. Hoshi's face was as white as a sheet, and Malcolm and Travis looked rather shaken up as well. T'Pol's kept her usual controlled countenance, but her eyes were dark with worry.

"I gave Trip my word to stop Phlox from hooking him up to the respirator when his lungs started to fail."

"That promise was given under different circumstances, Captain," Phlox said. "We didn't know they were going to find a cure."

"They don't know if it'll have an effect. They were just going to run another series of tests when Malcolm called. They said something about a 70% probability. The odds are in Trip's favor, but there is always the possibility that it won't take effect." Looking over at his friend, Jon swallowed. "I told that Captain we're no torturers. But look what I did to Trip. I sent him through a worse hell than these aliens did."

"You mean it could have all been for nothing?" Malcolm's British accent grew stronger like always when he was upset. "All that torture of almost suffocating and this painful injection? It could have been for nothing?" His fresh hopes were shattered, and his voice grew pained as he spoke. "Captain?"

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. We don't know if it'll have an effect." Jon saw the despair he felt mirrored in the Armory Officer's eyes. "All we can do is hope."

"Where did the aliens suddenly get that cure from, Captain?" Hoshi wanted to know.

Jon looked at her. "The alien captain and me got along quite well. We found our beliefs and principles weren't all that different, after all, and that our feeling hostile towards each other was mostly based on misunderstandings. The captain said that his doctor might be able to develop a new cure based on the data he gathered during his examination of Trip. He wasn't sure, though, and I didn't want to give Trip and you any false hopes. If we'd only had a little more time..." Jon trailed off, biting the inside of his lip.

"When will we know for sure, doctor?" T'Pol asked calmly.

"It shouldn't take too long," the doctor said, giving the empty phial a thoughtful look. "I don't know how it works, but if there's no sign of recovery in the next twenty-four hours then it certainly won't take any effect at all. It is now 3 am. If his condition hasn't changed by tomorrow night, 3 am, we know we've lost."

Twenty-four hours. A twenty-four hours reprieve.

"Why don't you all go and get some rest," Phlox suggested. Archer and Reed simultaneously shook their heads.

"Very well, the two of you may stay," the doctor relented. "But I must insist that the others leave now. The Commander needs to rest."

* * *

 

Jon and Malcolm took a seat beside Trip's bed, neither of them speaking a word. The thoughts running through their minds were much the same, and far from pleasant.

"Captain," Malcolm whispered all of a sudden.

Raising his head, Jon saw Trip had opened his eyes and was staring at the ceiling. Archer got up. He didn't dare to turn Trip's head so his friend could look at him for fear of causing him pain or moving the respirator's tube, and so he bent down over him to look at his face.

"Trip?" Jon swallowed as he saw Trip's eyes, filled with pain and wordless accusation.

"I'm so sorry, Trip, that you have to go through this."

Jon felt a burning sensation in his eyes as he looked at his friend's face. Phlox had fixed the tube with a band-aid, and Jon felt his chest contract at the sight of that plastic pipe sticking out of Trip's half-opened mouth.

"I know I promised you not to allow this. I broke my promise, but I had no choice. I can only hope that you'll understand, Trip. The aliens found a cure that will help you. But it needs time to take effect, and it can take a few hours. Only a few hours, Trip, okay?"

More than anything else Archer wished Trip would have been able to give him an answer. Now, on top of everything else, they'd taken away his ability to speak. He was paralyzed and unable to voice his feelings with that tube sticking in his throat. The only means of communications the engineer had still left were his eyes, and they were so full of pained accusation that it hurt Jon worse than he could bear to look at them. How bad was this going to get before it finally came to an end? What was he going to do if the cure took no effect? No. Jon shook his head, pushing these thoughts away. It _had_ to take effect, it just had to.

That moment, Phlox stepped up beside the bed, starting to run a few scans.

"He is in pain, doctor," Malcolm said quietly.

"There is a tube sticking in his throat, Lieutenant, I doubt that's a very pleasant sensation. And he might still be suffering from a slight headache due to the lack of oxygen he experienced. The Commander went through quite a lot during those last thirty minutes."

Malcolm snorted, but the sound betrayed no amusement whatsoever. "Went through quite a lot, that's one way to put it. Can't you give him something?"

"To tell the truth, I don't want to risk giving Commander Tucker some kind of painkiller or sedative. I do not have the slightest idea what substances that cure consists of, and I cannot tell if there might be an reaction when it's contaminated with other medication. I don't want to do anything that might delay or hinder Mr. Tucker's recovery."

"So you're saying all we can do for him is wait and see?" Wearily, Jon rubbed a hand over his face.

"Affirmative, Captain. But maybe in a few hours I can tell you more. I'll be in the science lab, running a few tests. Call me if you need me."

Jon and Malcolm both nodded, neither of them giving an answer. This was nothing short of torture, Trip lying on that bed without being able to speak or move while they could only sit there and wait without being able to do anything to help him. Holding his hands, they tried to keep a conversation going to drown out that terrible silence. After about an hour Trip finally fell asleep. Archer and Reed exchanged relieved glances when suddenly the comm chirped.

"T'Pol to Captain Archer."

Jon got up to take the call. "T'Pol, I seem to remember I told you to get some rest."

"I have meditated for approximately one hour," T'Pol informed him stiffly. "But I was not able to go to sleep. Captain, the aliens have finished their scans and are now ready to leave."

Jon sighed. "On my way, T'Pol." With last glance at the sleeping Trip Jon nodded at Malcolm, then went to tend to his duties.

* * *

 

Malcolm Reed was tired. No wonder, he hadn't slept all night. Not that he would be able to if he went to bed now, he was way too upset. Hearing that Trip was probably going to die had hit him hard. He couldn't imagine life on Enterprise without her Chief Engineer and he couldn't imagine Malcolm Reed without Trip Tucker. It had taken some time, but by now he and Trip were close friends despite their opposite characters. He enjoyed the friendly quarreling, the discussions about technical matters, the joint work and missions, and was simply unable to accept that he might have to do without all of this in the future. When Phlox had announced that he wouldn't be able to do anything about Trip's paralyzed legs, it had looked like a radical change, but not like the end. Malcolm knew that sooner or later Trip would have come to terms with that situation, and he himself would have been more than glad to help his friend.

But that had been then. Now, things looked different. Now, Trip Tucker was lying in a biobed, unable to move, hooked up to a respirator that did the breathing for him for his lungs were no longer able to supply his body with oxygen. And who knew what an effect that cure would have; if it had any effect at all. Those strangers hadn't assayed it. Again, Trip was the guinea pig, and they all were forced to wait and see. The waiting was the worst of it. At least Trip had eventually fallen asleep. Malcolm knew that every moment Trip was oblivious of his condition was a relief for the Commander.

Gently, Malcolm ran a finger over the back of Trip's hand. Maybe all of this would be different if he hadn't run away down there on that moon. A feeling of guilt made him avert his eyes. He'd chickened out, leaving Trip at the mercy of their enemy. If he'd been more careful, he would have been able to prevent this from happening. If he'd made Trip see that the situation might become dangerous. If he'd urged him to keep his phaser ready as well when they stepped out in that corridor. And if he'd been on the watch. These strangers had outnumbered them, but they hadn't had any weapons. It would have been possible for him and Trip to defend themselves. It would have been possible for a good Security Chief to defend them. A capable officer wouldn't have turned tail and run away. And now Trip was lying here, had to endure all of this, because Malcolm Reed hadn't done his job.

He allowed himself a deep sigh. More than everything else, even more than this, was bothering him a feeling he'd hidden away deep inside his mind, locked up for no one else to see. A feeling of relief, relief that it wasn't him lying there on that bed. Malcolm didn't dare even think of that feeling, he immediately felt like betraying his friend when he did so.

"I'm so sorry, Trip," he whispered. "I shouldn't have left you behind. Together, we would have been able to overpower them. These people were no trained fighters. Why did I have to run away; I could have made it, I could have saved you. You wouldn't be lying here if I'd done my job properly." He squinted his eyes shut to drive away the burning sensation rising in them. "Don't start crying, Reed," he muttered. "This is your own fault." He raised his gaze and startled. Trip's eyelids had half-opened, and blue eyes were peering in his direction.

* * *

 

The first thing Trip felt was that terrible _thing_. There was something stuck in his mouth and throat, something he wasn't able to get rid of. He could neither swallow it nor spit it out. Trip tried to turn his head from side to side to get rid of that awful thing but then he remembered that the muscles in his neck were paralyzed. At the same time, the memory of what had happened came back to him. Phlox had shoved the respirator's tube down his throat, had hooked him up to life support. Trip could hear the soft hissing of the device that was supplying his body with oxygen. He had no idea how long he'd been here, if he'd been asleep for hours or only for a few minutes. Someone was holding his hand, gently stroking it, but he didn't bother to open his eyes to see who it was. All he wanted was for all of this to finally come to an end. The tube hurt his throat, scratching the inside of his windpipe and giving him the constant feeling of a cough rising in his chest, but of course he wasn't able to cough. Let alone make a sound. Trip had no will to fight left in him. He didn't believe that cure was going to help him. Fate had decided what was going to happen to him, and it wouldn't change its mind. Why hadn't Jon kept his promise? Why hadn't they simply let him go when it was time? Why would they force him to lie here, immobilized and unable to speak? That feeling of his throat slowly closing up, leaving him unable to breathe came back to his mind. There were no words to describe something so terrible. But just as he'd been about to slip away into merciful darkness, Jon had pulled him back, ordering Phlox to stick that awful thing into his windpipe. And here he was, not able to move or even communicate. By now, his headache had subsided, but he still could feel his muscles twitch, cramping from all that lying around. And he couldn't tell anyone about it. He couldn't even swallow his own saliva or wipe it off as it started to run down the side of his mouth. It was so humiliating. When was this going to end?

Next to his ear, he could hear someone talking. It was Malcolm. At first, Trip couldn't make out any of the murmured words and decided that his friend was most likely talking to himself rather than trying to tell him something. Then, however, something in Malcolm's tone caught his attention. Reed was blaming himself for what had happened to him, accusing himself of leaving Trip behind. The engineer wanted to sit up, talk to him, assure him that there had been nothing he could have done, but he was a prisoner in his own body, unable to voice his thoughts and feelings. And that was when Trip Tucker changed his mind. He couldn't die and leave Malcolm to live with that guilt. That damn cure had to work. If nothing else, it had to at least give him back his ability to breathe and speak so he could tell his friend he was not to blame for what had happened. Awkwardly, Trip prized open his eyes so he could look at Malcolm.

* * *

 

Malcolm jumped up. Had Trip heard him, had he been listening to what he'd said? He cursed himself for sitting there, jabbering away like an old dodderer talking to himself. Grabbing a kleenex, he gently wiped off the trace of saliva that was making its way down Trip's chin.

"Don't worry, Commander," he said in what he hoped to be a calming tone of voice. "It won't be much longer now. You'll be soon feeling a lot better."

Trip's blue eyes were resting on him with a worried expression, but Malcolm didn't know whether it was because Trip was frightened by his own condition or because he'd heard Malcolm after all. He didn't dare to ask him, though, hoping Trip had simply woken up at the sound of his voice without actually understanding any of his muttered words.

When the sickbay doors slid open with a low hiss, Malcolm raised his head and saw Hoshi enter the room. She looked tired and worn out, but there was a smile on her lips as she stepped up beside Trip's bed.

"How is the Commander?"

"He just woke up. What are you doing here that early in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep. Besides, shift starts in two hours." Leaning down over Trip, she stroked a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. "Hi Commander," she said gently. Trip winked at her, and Hoshi smiled. "I mean, Trip. I'll stay with him, Lieutenant," she said, looking back at Malcolm. "You look like you could use a shower and a breakfast." She studied his face, her voice sounding worried as she continued. "And a few hours of sleep. I'm sure the Captain wouldn't mind changing the duty roster for once."

"That's okay, Hoshi, I'm fine. But a shower and some food sounds like a good idea." Slowly, Malcolm got to his feet. He hated leaving his friend's bedside, but he mustn't forget about his duties. He was just about to say goodbye to Trip, putting a hand on his shoulder when he saw the engineer's face contort in pain.

"Trip!" Malcolm said, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

Hoshi had noticed as well, and called for Phlox who was immediately at Trip's bedside.

"There is something wrong with the Commander, doctor. He's in pain."

The doctor run his scanner over Trip's body. "Muscle spasms," he stated. "In his calves, mostly."

Without asking any further questions, Hoshi pushed the covers aside and started massaging Trip's legs.

"Come on, Lieutenant, give me a hand," she ordered, and Malcolm complied. Trip squeezed his eyes shut when they started applying pressure to the sole of his feet in order to stretch the muscles in his legs. Hoshi's hands felt a lot softer on his skin than Malcolm's callused paws as they kneaded and massaged the tensed-up muscles in his legs, but eventually the pain began to relent. After a while Phlox returned, hypospray in hand.

"What's that?" Malcolm wanted to know.

"Undiluted magnesium," Phlox said, pressing the hypospray against Trip's neck.

"I thought you said you weren't going to give him any medication."

"Magnesium is no medication, but a mineral. It shouldn't interfere with the cure, and it will help to ease the cramps."

"Why is he having those, anyway?"

"The Commander has been lying immobilized for quite a long time. It's only natural his muscles will cramp."

"Will it help if we massage him?" Hoshi asked.

"Of course, Ensign. We should also move his limbs from time to time to keep them supple." He glanced at his scanner, his voice betraying disappointment as he continued. "I was hoping there would be signs of recovery by now."

"Nothing at all?" Malcolm bit his lip, trying not to let any of his worry show on his face.

"No, but let's not jump to any conclusions." Bending down over Trip, Phlox gave him a broad smile. "Don't worry, Commander. You're going to be alright."

When he turned away from the bed, his forced cheerfulness vanished to be replaced by an expression of sorrow. "Maybe later," he whispered at Hoshi and Malcolm who were watching him with worried faces.

* * *

 

The minutes dragged by at snail's pace. If he'd only been able to go to sleep. But he knew that this wasn't going to happen; his consciousness kept jerking back to the real world and he didn't seem to be able to doze off for more than a few minutes. Most of the time he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His whole body itched, and that feeling of pins and needles pricking his skin from the inside just wouldn't go away. Even the massages Hoshi gave him didn't change anything about that.

Jon never left his place at Trip's bedside. Trip would have liked to ask him if there wasn't a ship he had to run, but at the moment simple every-day things like a conversation were far beyond the bounds of his possibilities. His throat had gotten used to the scratchy feeling the tube created, but it was a strange and unpleasant experience, not being able to breathe on his own. What he couldn't get used to, though, was the picture of misery he knew he must look. From time to time Jon reached out to wipe off the saliva that was running down Trip's chin, and Trip felt incredible shame of the fact that he wasn't even able to control the most elementary functions of his body. It got especially bad when Hoshi brought the Captain a steaming cup of fresh coffee. The drip the doctor had hooked him up to provided Trip's body with all the nutrients that he needed, but the coffee's strong aroma immediately made his mouth water which resulted in even more saliva dripping down his chin.

"Oh shit!" Jon jumped to his feet so quickly that a few splashes of the steaming coffee landed on his hand. He carried his cup to the back of the room where Trip wasn't able to smell the coffee anymore.

Carefully, Hoshi wiped the saliva off Trip's chin. "I'm sorry, Trip," she whispered, planting a hesitant kiss on his forehead. "That was thoughtless of me. But I promise you, as soon as the doctor gets that awful thing out of your throat I'll bring you the best coffee you ever had."

Trip sighed inwardly. When was this going to happen? He had no idea what the time was. He'd lost all sense of time, and it felt as if he'd been lying here for days already. The strain on his back was starting to make itself felt, and he wished he would have been able to shift a little to ease the pain in his tensed muscles. When was that damned serum finally going to take effect? Trip was torn between frustration, hopelessness, anger and a fierce determination to stand up to fate. To survive this ordeal with as much dignity as possible. But he wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. All he could do was listen to his friends talking as they took shifts at his bedside, washing his sweaty body, moving his limbs and massaging his cramping muscles. It was so humiliating that at times Trip felt like snapping at them to finally leave him be. But on the other hand he was grateful for their caring and friendship, and he knew he would have done the same for every single one of them. This wasn't easy for anyone. And listening to their voices Trip could hear how much they cared, and how desperately they, too, were waiting for a sign of improvement.

* * *

 

Jon felt grief and worry weighing down on him like a dark heavy blanket. Every time he looked at Trip, his insides contracted, and he couldn't keep his mind off the fact that in the meantime it had become afternoon and nothing had changed about his friend's condition so far. Deep in thought, Jon gently ran his fingers over the back of Trip's hand. It was so hard, being forced to watch Trip suffer like that. To see the pain in his eyes when those muscle cramps were tormenting him again, and the shame when the Captain and the others helped Phlox take care of him. Jon's only hope was that Trip found their presence to be comforting as well, and not merely another annoyance.

At the moment he was alone with Trip. He knew T'Pol was taking good care of his ship, and he wasn't remotely interested in the nebula they were currently passing. Ten minutes ago he'd given Malcolm the direct order to go and lie down for a while. His Security Officer had complied; reluctantly, of course, but in the end he had given in. He knew as well as Archer that after another sleepless night he was likely to collapse next to Trip's bed more sooner than later.

Jon picked up another kleenex and gently wiped Trip's mouth. Trip squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's alright, my friend," Jon said softly. "It's not your fault you can't swallow at the moment, and the stuff needs to go _somewhere_. It's okay."

Jon inwardly heaved a sigh as he saw the frustration and shame in Trip's eyes. But there was something else as well. Besides the despair he felt at his condition Trip's eyes seemed to be filled with a wild determination, determination not to give up without a fight. Jon swallowed. Trip did not know what he knew. Trip wasn't aware of the fact that there was no guarantee the serum was going to take effect, and that the low steady hissing of the respirator might as well be a countdown of the hours and minutes he had still left to live. But at least the silent accusation had disappeared from those blue eyes, and Jon was grateful for that. Everytime he looked down at the face of his friend, Trip raised his eyebrows which gave the impression as if he was smiling. Jon felt like crying. He had ignored Trip's last request and he was responsible for the suffering his friend had to endure. And if it had all been for nothing? He didn't know how he was supposed to bear it if the cure took no effect, after all, forcing him to give Trip up to death once again.

* * *

 

In the early evening Jon went down to messhall to get himself another cup of coffee. He felt tired and worn out by the constant worry. Taking a quick look around, he noticed that messhall was crowded, as it always was at dinner time. The crew was being unusually quiet, though, hardly chatting and talking as they pushed their food around their plates. Despite Chef's best efforts no one seemed to be feeling very hungry today. When the Captain entered, some of them turned around, looking at him with questioning eyes. Regretfully, Jon shook his head. No news from sickbay. Lowering their eyes, the crew turned back to their meals.

Jon took his coffee back to his ready room and busied himself looking through some reports. Finally he put the empty cup aside, gathered up the padds and went down to sickbay to take his turn at Trip's bedside.

"He fell asleep," Malcolm whispered as Jon took a seat on the other side of the bed.

"Good." Thinking of how he himself had been counting the hours, Jon shuddered as he imagined how Trip must feel, being reduced to lying around and waiting for the cure to take effect. Getting up, he walked over to where Phlox was standing at the counter.

"What are you going to do if there's no change after twenty-four hours?"

Phlox sighed. "In that case, the decision will be up to you once again, Captain. I can keep the Commander alive, you know that."

"In this condition?"

Phlox nodded.

"Nothing has changed about Trip's decision, Phlox. He doesn't want to go on living that way. And as hard as we might find it, when we know for certain that the cure won't have an effect, we shouldn't let him suffer any longer."

"In that case, I'll give him the sedative, then take him off life support as soon as he loses consciousness."

Jon swallowed. "Is there a chance that the cure will still take effect?"

"I cannot say for sure, Captain, but the probability of that happening decreases with every hour."

Jon closed his eyes. The hope he'd felt when he'd come back from the alien ship was slowly being replaced by a feeling of utter despair. Without another word, he sat back down next to Malcolm at Trip's bed, watching his friend's sleep.

After a few hours had passed, Phlox returned to run some more scans. When he was finished, he slowly shook his head.

"This can't be, doc." Malcolm's voice sounded hoarse. "Why doesn't it take effect?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant." Phlox stared down at Trip with an expression of deep sorrow on his face. "The Commander is fast asleep. I suggest you both follow his example, and go get some rest. Doctor's orders. I'll notify you if there are any changes."

Jon considered Phlox' suggestion, while Malcolm shook his head right away.

"When have you last been sleeping, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I slept two hours in the afternoon. I'm fine, doc. I wouldn't be able to go to sleep now, anyway."

"Very well," Phlox relented. "But I must insist that you go to your quarters, Captain. You are exhausted, and it won't help anyone if the Captain collapses with sleep deprivation. And it won't help Commander Tucker, either."

Awkwardly, Jon got to his feet. Phlox was right. Despite his worry he was hardly able to keep his eyes open anymore.

"You'll notify me immediately?"

"Of course, Captain. Sleep well."

Jon looked at Phlox. He really seemed to mean it.

* * *

 

Malcolm startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Doctor? Did I fall asleep?" He stretched. "What time is it?"

"It's 3 am, Lieutenant."

Malcolm didn't have to ask for he could see the answer to his question written all over the doctor's features. "No changes?"

Phlox shook his head. "I'm afraid there's no use in keeping our hopes up any longer. I'm going to get the Captain so he can decide about what we're going to do."

"No." Malcolm looked at his sleeping friend. "Give him a little more time, doc."

"There is no use in that, Lieutenant. The cure should have taken effect hours ago. We have to face the fact that we won't be able to help Mr. Tucker. I agree with the Captain that it wouldn't be right to let him suffer any longer."

"But Trip's asleep. There's no hurry. Two hours, Phlox. Only two hours. Please."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Two hours. Then I'll notify the Captain."


	17. Chapter 17

Jonathan Archer startled as his comm went off. "Phlox to Captain Archer."

Jon cast his chronometer a glance and saw that it was just after 5 am. He'd actually managed to fall asleep and had even slept past Phlox' deadline. Trip! He scrambled out of bed. "Archer here."

"Captain, I am going to remove the tube now. I assume you'd like to be present at the occasion. The Commander..."

"I'm on my way, Phlox," Jon interrupted, cutting the connection. He rested his head against the wall, trying to fight the sobs that were making his throat constrict, seemingly rising from his very heart. That was it now. That was the end of it. After countless battles, they'd eventually lost the war. He wondered what Trip was feeling at the moment. It was so cruel. Time after time they'd raised his hopes, and time after time these hopes had been crushed again. Everything he'd gone through, everything Jonathan had forced him to endure had been in vain. Now there was only one thing left to do; give Trip a sedative and switch off the respirator so he could at least die peacefully. Letting him go was for the best; for Trip, anyway. But what effect would it have on the crew? Jon stepped into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and spraying his face with cold water.

Damn the crew, he thought suddenly. What effect would it have on himself? On Jonathan Archer, who'd always been able to rely on his second officer to support him. Trip had always been there when he'd needed him, no matter if it had been private matters or official ones. Jon felt so miserable. The friendship between them had grown so strong over the years that he just couldn't imagine having to do without it. What he was about to do seemed like abandoning Trip. He felt the urge to tell Phlox not to turn off that respirator; he wanted to keep Trip, no matter in what condition. But who was he to decide over the life and death of his friend? He had to keep his promise. The promise he'd given his best friend. The promise not to torment him any more but to let him go. Let him die. The words echoed through Jon's thoughts. Letting Trip die. It was harder than anything he'd ever done in his entire life. Trip was still way too young. He had so much to offer, to Enterprise and to Starfleet. But Jon had to go through with this. He owed him that much. There was that one last thing he could do for Trip, fulfil his last request and stay with him and hold his hand when the end came.

And what if Trip had changed his mind? Jon raised his head, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. There was a difference between talking about the situation hypothetically and actually going through it. Trip had been on the brink of dying, what if he'd realized that life was too valuable to just give it up, after all? What if Trip didn't want to die? He couldn't tell them. Jon swallowed. He knew Trip well enough to know what torture that must be for him, lying on that biobed, unable to move or speak. Deep down within his mind the Captain was aware that Trip's decision hadn't changed, had maybe even been reinforced by what had happened. But how could he be so sure about that? Jon stared into red-rimmed eyes that were looking at him from inside the mirror. He had to talk to Trip once more. Ask him if he really wanted Phlox to turn off the respirator. Trip couldn't answer, but he could use his eyes to communicate with his surroundings. He could blink or something to tell them what he wanted. The thing was that Jon didn't know which answer he should be hoping for.

Letting out a deep sigh, he left his quarters, slowly walking along the corridors of his ship. Of an Enterprise that would have to manage without her Chief Engineer in the future. Oh, there would be a new Chief Engineer, of course. But it wouldn't be the same. Trip Tucker couldn't be replaced, by no-one. And everytime Jon's eyes would fall on the new Chief Engineer, he would be reminded of what he'd lost, he knew that much. Why did the way to sickbay seem to go by so quickly this time? He didn't want to face what was awaiting him there. He wasn't ready yet.

Jon sighed as he stepped through the double doors. "Phlox?"

"Captain?"

"Is he awake?"

"He's been for a few minutes."

Jon swallowed. "Please, I'd like a moment alone with him before you turn off the respirator."

"Before? Why? Afterwards, you'll have all the time..." Phlox broke off, studying the Captain's miserable expression. "Captain, I am removing the tube because Commander Tucker is capable of breathing on his own. The cure shows an effect."

Jon's heart skipped a beat as he incredulously stared at the doctor's broad smile. Could this be happening? He wasn't quite able to believe it. "He can breathe?"

"Indeed, Captain. As soon as I have removed the tube. You should have let me finish earlier, I was just about to tell you."

"How long do you know?"

"Fortunately, Lieutenant Reed convinced me not to stick too close to my deadline of 0300 hours. Around 0400, I seemed to notice a slight improvement, and over the last half-hour, the Commander's respiration has been restoring steadily. He should be able to breathe on his own now. So if you don't object, I would like to take him off the respirator now."

Jon simply nodded. He felt numb. Could this be possible? Could it actually be happening? He licked his dry lips as he stepped up beside Trip's bed.

Malcolm looked up. "It works, Captain."

Jon glanced at his Armory Officer. He couldn't remember seeing the usually so reserved younger man look happier than he did now. All of a sudden, Jon felt his knees tremble with relief. Trip's fight hadn't been in vain. He'd gotten another chance. A good chance. Jon bent over Trip and looked into blue eyes that were answering his gaze questioningly as well as apprehensively.

"Welcome back, Commander," he said quietly, feeling his eyes burn.

"Captain! Would you please let me do my job!" Phlox sounded slightly impatient. Jon threw him a guilty side-glance and stepped aside. He took Trip's hand and held it while Phlox got to work. His heart began thumping against his ribs as he realized what he'd just said to Trip. His friend would live. They all would be spared the hard task of letting him die. Enterprise would keep her charismatic Chief Engineer. And he would keep his friend. Jon took a deep breath and felt all the hopeless, depressed feelings vanish, to be replaced by a deep, all-embracing sensation of bliss.

Gently, Phlox removed the tube. Trip gagged and coughed, then drew in a labored, unsteady breath.

"Sit him up," Phlox said. "He'll be breathing more easily."

Jon perched on the edge of the bed, and with Malcolm's help he carefully pulled Trip into a sitting position, resting the Commander's head against his shoulder and supporting it. Trip was still coughing and breathing raspyly. "Jon, Malcolm," he whispered hoarsely.

"Don't talk, Trip." Jon patted him on the back. "Try to breathe evenly. Everything's alright. It's over."

Malcolm turned to Phlox who was currently busy running his med scanner over Trip.

"Will he be alright, doc?" His voice was a little unsteady and his hands were trembling slightly.

"I'm afraid I can't tell yet, Lieutenant."

Jon let his gaze wander from Trip to Phlox to Malcolm. "I can. The strangers weren't quite sure if the agent was going to work, but they said if it takes any effect at all, then there'll be a complete recovery. Without any reservations." He smiled at Trip and felt that he was trembling a little himself. "You're gonna be able to walk again, Commander."

"You didn't know if it'd work?" Trip croaked between two gasping breaths. It was still hard for him to coordinate breathing and talking, but he needed to ask that one question.

"No Trip, the aliens told us the odds were seventy percent that the cure would have an effect. But we couldn't tell you that. You went through enough without that knowledge. But believe me, we've gone through hell as well in these last few hours. It was worth it, though."

Phlox handed Malcolm a cup of water and set himself to pulling the needle which had provided the Commander with nutrients the last twenty six hours out of Trip's arm. Malcolm carefully put the cup to Trip's lips who took a sip, then began to cough.

"Take it easy, Commander," Malcolm said. "Might be better to first breathe, then drink."

Trip glanced at his friend and tried a smile. He could feel Malcolm's relief. For a moment, he considered giving a smart reply, but breathing evenly was difficult enough.

Malcolm smiled broadly, putting down the cup and furtively wiping a hand across his eyes. "I'll go and let some people know." He was sure that Hoshi as well as Travis or T'Pol wouldn't mind the nightly disturbance and would probably show up here in a few minutes at the most. He found it to be a real pleasure to pass on the happy news. Eventually, he pressed the button once again. Trip's crew as well had a right to know what was going on. "Reed to Engineering."

"This is Hess."

"Lieutenant?" Malcolm frowned, slightly surprised. "What are you doing in Engineering at this time of night?"

"The whole staff is present, Lieutenant," Hess sighed. "Sleep's out of question, anyway, and Engineering seems like the right place to wait for news. Is it over?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. It's over." Only when he heard the young woman's sobs Malcolm realized that Hess must have taken that line completely different than he'd meant it. "Lieutenant, listen to me. It's over, but not the way you're thinking. The Commander's breathing on his own again."

"Sir?" It was only a sniffling sob that came over the comm.

Malcolm smiled a little. "I'm terribly sorry, Hess, but I'm afraid you'll yet have to wait until you can take over Engineering. He's going to make it. The Commander will make a full recovery."

Hess didn't reply, but a few seconds later Malcolm thought he could almost see the sickbay wall vibrate as the sound of many voices cheering burst from the intercom's small speaker.


	18. Chapter 18

The crewmembers eating lunch in messhall exchanged knowing smiles at the sound of cutlery crashing onto a plate and someone uttering a small curse.

"I told you, Trip. It's too early." Malcolm handed the fork back to Trip. "You're expecting too much of yourself yet. It's been only four days."

Four days. Four days since he had risen from the dead. Trip knew he would never forget his first breath. Until then he hadn't been aware of how wonderful it was simply to breathe, even though his sore throat had still caused him a lot of pain at that time. It took several hours until he was able to speak in a normal voice again without croaking or going into a coughing fit after every other word. Having that tube removed had been an immense relief, and feeling his condition improve instead of getting worse and worse was an experience beyond description. Phlox of course had told him it could still be weeks until he regained full control of his body, but all of a sudden time hadn't been that important anymore. Trip had been simply glad to live, and moreover, to live in the prospect of recovering his health in the foreseeable future. But since he wasn't really the patient type it didn't take long until time became again quite important. Two days passed until Trip was at least able to move his head again, two long days during which his fears kept returning again and again. Fear of the paralysis proving resistant to the cure after all. Who knew if those aliens were right in their assumption that the cure was going to restore him back to full health once it had taken first effect? Trip never showed the panic he felt at the thought of being forced to live the life of a helpless person. Of never being able to take care of himself again.

Fortunately, though, he was too busy to indulge in brooding for long. Hoshi came by several times a day to give him massages, and T'Pol led him through special meditation exercises to help him stabilize his still rather shaky breathing. Malcolm and Travis assisted him with his physical exercises under Phlox' supervision, and Jon came to see him whenever he could. The Captain suspected Trip's fears, even though the engineer would never talk about them. But Jon kept assuring him the cure was going to take effect, and tried to distract him as best as he could. The second day of Trip's recovery Jon allowed the crew to come by for short visits, but ended up almost regretting his decision. Visitors were all but queuing in front of the sickbay doors, for everybody wanted to tell the Commander personally how happy they were to see him getting better. Later that afternoon Travis suggested they should draw numbers, and Phlox even threatened to lock the sickbay doors, but all in all there was a general feeling of relief in the air. The crew's mood had changed, and people started smiling again, laughing and joking instead of talking in quiet, somber tones.

Jon had taken Trip back to his quarters for the next night after Phlox had removed the tube, and even though Trip was glad to get out of sickbay, he was beginning to feel an amused sort of irritation at Jon's anxious concern. He didn't mind sleeping in his best friend's bed, but he didn't like Jon having to spend the night on the couch because the Captain felt he had to give up his usual sleeping space for him. So Trip was quite glad when Phlox finally allowed him to stay in his own quarters, and he even managed to persuade Jon to delegate the nursing job for once and get some much-needed rest.

That evening Malcolm helped Trip get ready for bed, and surprised him by setting up a cot against the wall opposite Trip's bed.

"I'll be there if you need me, Commander," he said simply, and Trip was grateful for Malcolm's unobtrusive way of offering help. Now he also knew why Phlox had so easily agreed to let him sleep in his own quarters. He'd been wondering, for usually Phlox wouldn't agree to discharge a patient who'd been on the brink of dying only forty hours ago and couldn't move at all. Trip supposed Malcolm had been talking to the doctor, promising him to keep an eye on the engineer, and Trip was grateful for that. Briefly, he remembered that there was still something they needed to talk about, but Malcolm seemed so happy and relieved in the face of his friend's recovery that Trip decided not to bring up this particular subject that day. It had been quite some time since he'd seen Malcolm so relaxed, and he didn't want to spoil the cheerful mood between them just now. Instead he simply enjoyed laughing and joking with Malcolm until he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

As he woke up in the morning, he realized with a happy start that he was able to turn his head, and by noon he already managed to lift it off the pillow. Things were definitely looking up. Now even Trip himself finally started to believe that everything was going to be alright. He began to gain new trust in life, deciding that fate might have let him off the hook, after all. Eventually he even allowed Phlox to help him into his wheelchair and secure him by fastening a strap across his chest so he wouldn't fall out. It was humiliating, but the thought of lying on that narrow biobed all day was driving him nuts. That way he was at least able to participate in everyday life on Enterprise again. Hess and Rostov took him down to Engineering, he paid a visit to the bridge and attended the senior officer's briefing later that day.

And even though he was still hardly able to move, regaining some of his former independence meant a lot to Trip. He started to feel alive again, and comfortable with the crew who seemed to fully accept him despite his inability to move. There were no stares and whispers behind his back, and no one smothered him with exaggerated friendliness. People simply offered help when they saw that it was needed, and otherwise behaved around him like they always did, accepting him as a respected member of the crew.

That morning Jon had gone on a first contact mission, ordering T'Pol and Hoshi to accompany him and telling Trip he had the bridge as if it was the most natural thing in the world. At first, Trip hadn't been sure he'd heard him right, but Jon had only shrugged.

"Why're you looking so surprised?" he asked. "You're my second officer, aren't you? So when T'Pol and I aren't aboard you have the bridge. See to it that you take good care of my ship." Jon grinned. "And yourself."

It meant a lot to know that Jon trusted him enough to give him the command even when he was sitting in that wheelchair. Actually, though, being Enterprise's acting Captain didn't really require him to do a lot more than simply sitting around. The ship was in orbit around the planet the away team was visiting, and the inhabitants didn't seem inclined to give them any trouble, welcoming the alien visitors as friendly as you please.

Still, even the usual bridge routine felt very exhausting to Trip, even though he wasn't going to admit it. He hated to admit any weaknesses, all but exhausting himself in his efforts to return to something like a normal life. The fact that he was now able to move his right arm a little helped his confidence a lot, and he insisted on trying to eat his meal unassisted, ignoring Malcolm's well-meant offers of help. He wasn't going to be fed like a baby any longer. Besides, Chef had said something about throwing a big party as soon as the Commander was able to eat on his own again, and this prospect was enough motivation for Trip to keep trying.

Soon, however, it became clear that his recovery was still going to take quite a lot of time. His fingers were still paralyzed, and even though Malcolm helped him close them around the fork, Trip didn't seem to be able to hold on to it for more than a few seconds.

"It's not going to work, Commander," Malcolm insisted as he picked up the fork for the fifth time, putting it back into Trip's hand. "Your fingers aren't responding yet, but I don't think I have to tell you that. You can't eat like that. Face it and stop being so bloody stubborn."

Trip grinned. "Now that's a saucy way of talkin' to your Cap'n, Lieutenant."

Malcolm grimaced. "Permission to feed my ' _Cap'n'_ before he starves sitting in front of his full plate. Besides, my shift starts in ten minutes, and I seem to recall said captain is quite strict about punctuality."

Trip sighed and gave Malcolm one of his famous Tucker-stares. "Well, alright." Again, he let go of his fork, but this time he dropped it on purpose, resigning to the fact that there was no point in rushing things.

* * *

 

After assisting the Commander with his physical exercises, Malcolm helped Trip get ready and got him settled in bed before he left for his own quarters to have a shower and change. He knew Trip always appreciated their company, but felt the Commander needed some time for himself to sort out his thoughts without any of his friends hovering anxiously in the background. Of course they only meant well, but Malcolm could imagine that Trip was getting a little fed up with being constantly supervised. He'd also noticed that the Commander was getting increasingly impatient with his condition. He always wanted to do everything on his own like he'd used to before all of this had happened, refusing to make allowances for his body that was only slowly healing. Malcolm did his best to keep him from exhausting himself, but it was mostly an exercise in futility. Reed felt a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he thought of Trip's stubbornness. The Captain's decision to put Trip in command while he was on the away mission had helped the Commander's self-confidence a lot, and that was exactly what Trip needed at the moment. The engineer had finally brought himself to believe that he was really going to regain full control over his body, but he still needed a lot of emotional support to be able to deal with the situation. Malcolm tried to imagine how he would feel in Trip's place, being forced to allow others to wash and feed him, always having to rely on the help of people who were actually his subordinates. He shuddered. The mere thought of it was unbearable, and the way the Commander coped with the situation filled Malcolm with respect.

The realization that Trip wasn't going to be permanently handicapped had been a great relief to him, but still there was a feeling of guilt nagging at the back of his mind. Somehow he just couldn't get rid of that little voice in his head telling him he could have prevented this if he'd only protected his friend instead of running away.

* * *

 

Trip smiled a hearty welcome as the Lieutenant entered his quarters an hour later. He appreciated Malcolm's subtle way of allowing him some privacy, but he was glad to have his friend staying with him during the night. It was reassuring to know that there was someone there in case he needed help. Turning his head, Trip watched Malcolm as the Lieutenant lowered himself into the desk chair across the room. It was a good feeling being able to look at people beyond his direct range of vision without his eye muscles aching from the strain. He'd never realized before how wonderful it was simply to be able to turn one's head or lift it. Trip knew his attitude towards life had changed, and being able to move was something he was never going to take for granted again. Fate had given him one more chance, and he was determined not to waste it.

Looking down at his right hand, Trip once again tried to move it. When he saw the little finger and ring finger twitching, a smile spread on his face. Oh yes, things were looking up alright.

"Found something you can move again?" Malcolm asked, his lips curving upwards.

Trip nodded. "Yup. Guess I still need a sparring partner for tomorrow's training session. What d'you say?"

"Sure, Commander. How about doing a little jogging in the corridors?"

Trip paused for a moment, then looked up. "Why are you doin' this, Malcolm?"

"You mean tease you? So you don't exhaust yourself by trying to do everything on your own."

"That's not what I meant. Why do you help me?"

Malcolm gave Trip a confused stare. "That's a stupid question, Trip. I'm doing it because you're my friend."

"Really? So you're not here because you're feeling guilty?"

"Damn." Malcolm bit his lip. "So you were listening, after all."

"There's nothin' wrong with my ears."

"I thought you were asleep. I didn't mean for you to hear what I was saying."

"But I did hear it, Mal, and luckily so. It gave me a reason to go on livin'. So we could have a talk about this."

"I don't understand."

"There was a time when I wasn't sure whether I wanted that cure after all. I thought I couldn't bear goin' through all that humiliatin' misery all over again. I felt I didn't have the strength left, y'know? But I knew I couldn't jus' give up when I realized that there were still things I had to do. Like talkin' to a friend who's blamin' himself for what happened to me."

Trip regarded Malcolm who was still perched on the edge of the desk chair staring at him with an expression of dismay on his face, and sighed. "Malcolm, why don't you take that chair and come sit over here so I don't have to shout across the room all the time."

Obediently, Malcolm picked up the chair and set it down next to Trip's bed. What the Commander had just told him shook him to his very core. Could it really be that his muttered self-accusations had been the reason Trip had decided to hold on to life instead of simply giving up?

"I'm not helping you because I'm blaming myself," he said, sitting back down on the chair. "I'm helping you because you're my friend. The best friend I ever had in life. Your friendship means a lot to me, Trip. And it's a good feeling, being able to help a friend when he needs it."

"Well, I guess I can live with that." Trip smiled, but then his features grew serious again. "You're not really blamin' yourself for what happened, are you?"

"I... I just feel I shouldn't have run away down there," Malcolm admitted reluctantly. "It would have been my job to protect you. Really, Trip, I don't know what I would have done if you'd died. It's awful, seeing you like that. And I keep thinking I could have prevented this if I'd only tried."

"And how exactly would you have done that, Lieutenant? Mal, there were nine of them! Nine of those 3 meter tall humanoids. You'd've only succeeded in gettin' yourself captured as well. And then? They'd probably have injected you with the same serum I was given, and you could've kept me company in that lab of theirs. There would've been no one to get us out of there. I guess it would've taken the Cap'n some time to notice that we were missin'. And who knows, in the meantime the aliens might've just decided to inject us with that deadly cure in order to get us back to our feet. Or they might've simply walked away, abandonin' us in that building with no way to get out."

Malcolm shook his head. "I should have been better prepared from the start. It should never have come to this, those aliens overpowering us. It would have been my duty to know that the complex wasn't deserted, after all."

"And how were you supposed to know that? They had their bio signs cloaked, remember? Stop it, Malcolm. Don't go blamin' yourself for somethin' you couldn't have done anythin' about. You got me out of there. You didn't run away, you simply got out of danger for a while so you could come up with a plan to help me. You did nothin' wrong. 'Runnin' away means turnin' tail and abandonin' your crewmates."

"I would never-" Malcolm began, but Trip cut him off.

"And you didn't. I would trust you with my life, Malcolm. You're a damn fine Security Officer, the best I've ever known. So stop blamin' yourself. I'm damn proud of you for what you did down there."

"Really?" The corner's of Malcolm's mouth started to twitch.

"Really. Think about it. You rescued me from that alien lab and carried me all the way to the shuttlepod. And don't go tellin' me you were only doin' your job for you did much more than that. You proved yourself a true friend."

"Thanks, Trip." A tentative smile appeared on Malcolm's lips. Trip kept studying him closely, noting a strange expression in the Lieutenant's eyes.

"There somethin' else, isn't there?"

"No, why do you ask?"

"I know you quite well by now, Mr. Reed. And I can see that there is somethin' else botherin' you."

Malcolm shook his head, averting his eyes.

"Come on, tell me. Has it got to do with me? Maybe there's somethin' I can do to help."

Malcolm looked back at Trip, facing those kind blue eyes that were regarding him with an expression of affection and concern. He swallowed, seeking words to express his feelings.

"When I asked myself whether I would have been able to fight those aliens off, after all, make sure you were able to escape even if they'd got me instead..." He broke off.

"Yeah?" Trip gave him an encouraging look.

Malcolm heaved a sigh. "I caught myself thinking that I was glad I wasn't in your place. I... I feel terrible about it."

Trip gave Malcolm a long look, not taking his gaze off Reed's face until the Lieutenant finally lowered his eyes.

"You mean you're glad they got me instead of you?"

"No. Of course not, I just... Or maybe I am? It sounds awful, but... maybe I am, yes."

"And that's the reason you feel guilty, and accuse yourself of lettin' me down?"

"Hmm."

"Come on, Mal. Look at me."

Raising his eyes, Malcolm saw that Trip had lifted his right hand off the bed and was now trying to stretch his arm, reaching out at him. Taking Trip's hand, Malcolm squeezed it lightly.

"I'm quite sure no one aboard would've wanted to be in my place," Trip said. "Not for a thousand of Hoshi's massages."

"Well, maybe not. But..."

"No buts, Malcolm. Stop doin' this to yourself. I know you're not feelin' glad that they got me. You're just glad you're not in my place. And it's okay to feel that way. Everybody would. Would be kinda abnormal for anyone to want to switch places with me. And you, Lieutenant Reed, might be actin' a little strange from time to time, but I never knew you to be abnormal."

Malcolm threw Trip a look of mock indignation. "Acting strange?"

Trip burst out laughing. "Oh yes you are. And you're a damn good friend, too. Now please tell me I talked you out of that guilt trip of yours; I don't wanna give another lecture like that."

"I never knew you were so good at lecturing."

Trip shrugged. "Must be a natural talent."

Malcolm stared at him. "Do that again."

"What? Give a lecture?"

"No, thanks, I guess once was enough." Malcolm grinned. "You just shrugged. With both shoulders. Didn't you notice?"

Carefully, Trip lifted his left shoulder. "It works!" A grin began to spread on his face. Malcolm nodded.

"You just wait, you'll be back on your feet in less time than we all thought."

* * *

 

Jon felt absolutely beat as he opened the shuttle hatch and climbed out into the hangar. Their mission had been successful, but also quite exhausting, and he found himself looking forward to a good hot shower and a few hours of sleep. Closing the hatch behind him, he took a quick look around. It seemed like today his officers weren't going to meet him in the hangar, as they usually did; the shuttle bay was empty. Well, never mind; he was going to the bridge anyway to relieve Enterprise's acting Captain from his current duties. Thinking of Trip, Jon felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He was looking forward to seeing his friend again, and found himself hoping that the engineer was doing a little better by now.

"Reed to Captain Archer," came Malcolm's voice from the speaker on the wall.

Jon pushed the comm button. "Archer here."

"Welcome back, Sir. Would you, T'Pol and Hoshi mind coming down to sickbay for a minute?"

Jon's eyebrows drew together. "Sickbay? Is there something wrong with Trip?"

"There's nothing wrong, sir, but..."

"Spill it, Lieutenant."

"There is no reason to worry, Captain. Just come down here. And bring the ladies with you."

* * *

 

How often had he walked in here during the last few weeks only to have some more hopes shattered? Jon prepared himself for the worst as he watched the sickbay doors slide aside. What he saw, however, made his breath catch in his throat. Trip was standing in the middle of the room. Actually standing, both his feet firmly set on the floor. Travis and Malcolm had their arms wrapped around his waist and were holding his arms, and Trip was heavily leaning on them for support, but he was standing. Jon heard Hoshi take an excited breath, and was sure that T'Pol had at least one of her eyebrows raised.

"Trip!" he managed.

"Hi, Cap'n." Trip grinned, and Jon couldn't remember the last time he'd seen an expression of such pure happiness on the engineer's face. He took a step towards his friend.

"Wait, Cap'n. Stay right there."

Surprised, Jon came to a halt two meters away from Trip, and watched as his friend slowly began to move his right foot, pushing it forward centimeter by centimeter.

"You can let go of me now," Trip said, turning to Travis and Malcolm.

"No way, Trip." Malcolm shook his head. "It won't work. You're not up to that yet."

"Let me go!"

Malcolm and Travis exchanged a look that expressed their mutual exasperation at the stubbornness of certain Southerners, and carefully let go of Trip, hovering nearby to catch him if he were to fall. Trip shifted his weight onto his right leg and pulled the other one forwards. He only managed one unsteady step, then his legs gave way and he fell forward into Jon's arms. But it had definitely been a step. His first step. For a moment sickbay was absolutely silent. Jon was still holding Trip, and he felt a tear trickle down his cheek. Travis and Malcolm patted Trip on the shoulder, Hoshi was smiling happily, and the corners of Phlox' mouth had curved upward so that they almost reached his ears. And if Trip hadn't known better he could have sworn that even T'Pol's lips were twitching. Just a little.

THE END


End file.
